


No Experience Necessary

by ladyfoxxx



Series: Pizza 'verse [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, College, Community: bandombigbang, Explicit Sexual Content, High School, M/M, Pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-06
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:58:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyfoxxx/pseuds/ladyfoxxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The AU where they all work at Brian's pizza store.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Experience Necessary

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Bandom Big Bang](http://community.livejournal.com/bandombigbang/) Challenge, 2010.

Gerard needs a job.

He's almost out of cigarettes, there are three CD's coming out this month that he needs to own, and he wants a new set of pencils. He's already deeply in nicotine-debt to Mikey and his mom (not to mention the greater world) from bumming too many cigarettes. It can't go on.

So he's put on his only non-ripped pair of jeans and a clean-ish shirt, tied his floppy black hair back and stuffed a slap-together resume into his back pocket. After doing the rounds of the local music stores, art stores, video shops, tobacconists, electrical stores, pawn shops and drugstores with no luck, he finds himself standing in front of Pepi's Pizza, which has a "Drivers Wanted" sign plastered in the front window. Underneath "Drivers Wanted" it says "No experience necessary – learn on the job!" like it’s something to be excited about. The sign is yellowed and fading, like it's been up for a long, long time.

Gerard grinds his indecision into the blacktop of the parking lot with the heel of his shoe. He's unsure if fast food outlets outrank grocery stores in the general 'poor art student' job stakes. But then, what does he care, he's never going to be cool anyway. It doesn't really matter if he's an uncool checkout chick or an uncool pizza boy. This will do.

The unmistakable smells of cheese and grease slap him in the face the moment he steps in the door. Under the greenish cast of the fluorescents the store is retina-burning white and small. A giant pizza oven takes up most of the room, and behind it Gerard can see stainless steel benches manned by a couple of kids in matching branded t-shirts, throwing ingredients at panned bases.

"Can I take your order?" A voice interrupts Gerard's careful inventory of the store. He looks to the front counter, where the owner of the voice is a rather bored-looking kid in yet another matching t-shirt. His name tag reads "FRANK". He looks a bit younger than Gerard, but then that could just be because he's tiny. His shirt is only half tucked-in and there's a tuft of hair, too raven-black to be natural, poking out from under his Pepi's branded baseball cap. His overall demeanor conveys utter apathy.

The general sloppiness of this kid is reassuring. If he’s on staff then they probably won't be too picky about hiring Gerard.

"I'm here about a job." Gerard tells the kid.

"Oh, right." Frank replies, still not very interested. He turns around and yells past the oven, "Brian! Driver!" Without even a sparing a backward glance at Gerard, he wanders into the bowels of the store to chat with the other uniforms.

Gerard rocks on his feet while he waits for whoever Brian is to come and see him. Every second that passes has him feeling more embarrassed and out of place in the too-warm store, but thoughts of the smokes he'll be able to buy keep his feet on the white linoleum, chewing his lip with craving. He has five left.

After what feels like way too long, a slightly taller, neater looking guy emerges wearing a "BRIAN" name tag that says "Manager" beneath it.

"You're looking for a job?" he asks. Gerard nods. Brian launches into a barrage of questions, scribbling onto a pad of paper as he does, brief and curt. His manner is all well-trained habit, like he's done this a million times.

"Do you have a license?"

"Yes." Gerard answers.

"A car?"

"No, but I can use my mom's." He's pretty sure he can anyway.

"When can you start?"

"Ah... whenever."

"Can you be back in two hours? Say six o' clock?" Brian talks quickly, like he's got something else he needs to be doing.

"Um. Sure." Gerard says, though he doesn't sound sure. He shrugs internally, maybe Brian prefers to interview potential drivers in the evening?

"Great." Brian hands him a sheet of sticky labels, pointing one out. "Write your first name here, nice and neat."

Gerard's not entirely sure why this is necessary, but he does as he's told. Maybe this is some kind of literacy test? In the meantime, Brian is digging around underneath the counter.

"What size t-shirt are you?" Brian asks.

"Ah. Medium?" Gerard tries not to sound too puzzled. Brian emerges from beneath counter, throwing a plastic-wrapped Pepi's branded t-shirt and cap on the counter. He pulls out a clean name tag, peels off Gerard's sticky label and attaches it.

He hands all three to Gerard saying "See you at six then."

Gerard stands there, holding the t-shirt, baseball cap and name-tag, feeling a little shell-shocked. He's certain the whole exchange couldn't have taken more than sixty seconds.

Brian's already heading back into the store, calling out over his shoulder, "Welcome to the team!"

****

So now, Gerard has a job. That's unexpected.

He stands in his room looking at the pieces of his uniform, racking his brain to try and remember what the other guys who worked there were wearing, aside from the horrific white and red t-shirts. That Frank kid was wearing black pants or perhaps jeans, and maybe Converse sneakers? He can't remember exactly, but that should be okay.

He wriggles into some black jeans, and pulls on the Pepi's t-shirt, cramming the cap over his greasy black hair. Checking his reflection in the mirror, he discovers he looks utterly ridiculous. Sighing disgustedly at his image, he's attempts to shove his hair in some way that'll make him look less like an eleven-year-old.

Mikey chooses that moment to walk past his room, glancing in. He stops mid-step and walks backwards to stare at Gerard from the doorway, snickering into his hand pointedly. Gerard just rolls his eyes and gives him the finger. Mikey doesn't stop giggling, just waves an amused hand vaguely at Gerard before going back about his business.

He's a bastard of a little brother.

Gerard gets to the store five minutes before six o' clock. For him this is exceedingly punctual. He didn't have any trouble getting access to his Mom's car; she was too busy being pleased over his new status as a functioning member of society. He walks inside the store hesitantly, feeling like a freshman on his first day.

It's definitely a different vibe to this afternoon. There are at least eight other red shirts running around, taking orders, answering phones, throwing toppings at bases and loading them into the oven. Customers are milling around in the now-too-small waiting area and Gerard can hear the staff yelling to each other in some kind of code. It's crowded, too warm and a bit overwhelming. Too many people and not enough space. This was a bad idea, he should really just leave. He nearly does, when someone snares his wrist.

"Hey new kid, come on." It's that guy Frank, dragging him through the shuffling customers into the back area. Shiny counter tops and red-printed shirts pass in a blur as Frank leads him to the rear of the store, tucking them into a slightly-less-busy corner. Frank eyes fix on Gerard with a lot more interest now than he showed this afternoon, He's flushed and slightly short of breath, eyes bright with curiosity as he reads Gerard's name tag.

"Gerard, huh? So you're working here now?" Frank asks,

Gerard points an airy hand at his not-particularly-aesthetically-pleasing uniform, "Isn't it obvious?"

Frank rolls his eyes, quirking an eyebrow and one side of his mouth. If he's offended he covers it well. "Okay, well, I'm Frank. I'm training you tonight. You're my bitch."

"Okay?" Gerard's voice pitches up with nervousness, sounding almost like a question. He's certain he looks about as clueless as humanly possible, his mind awhirl with the distracting thrum of the store around them. He chews his lip, fighting an inexplicable urge to apologize when Frank snaps back into action, repeating Gerard's "Okay" with markedly more decisiveness. Then they're off and running again.

The next few minutes are a whirlwind, Frank dragging him around the crowded back area of the store, introducing Gerard to a blur of new faces, most of whom he won't remember. Soon he's in possession of a pencil case full of small change which Frank refers to as his "float", as well as an ID number to key into the computer when he takes deliveries. It takes an embarrassingly long time for him to get his head around the software, which he puts down to being flustered by the crowdedness of the store and not Frank's careful yet intense instruction, though somehow that is even more distracting.

Lastly, Frank shows him the rack where the delivery orders that are ready to go are put, printed dockets sitting neatly in the plastic pockets of warm heat bags. Frank grabs one, logs it out in the computer, checks the address against a map hanging on the wall, the entire time narrating what he's doing to Gerard and why. He's a blur of energy to watch, making Gerard feel like he's moving in slow motion by comparison. He dutifully follows Frank outside when he's instructed, already feeling winded, both of them slipping out the back door into the parking lot.

Outside is peaceful and blissfully not pizza-scented by comparison, Gerard can feel himself calming already. He follows Frank over to a beat-up looking sedan.

"I'll pilot on this one okay? You just watch and learn." Gerard nods, still not quite ready to form words. Frank considers the nod for a minute, like he's making sure he's not going to miss something, before getting into the car and tossing the hotbag onto the backseat. When he fires the ignition the stereo starts blaring out Green Day, and Gerard finds himself staring at Frank with a dawning respect. Good taste.

He must've stared a little too long because Frank notices, misreading his look completely. "If it's too loud you can turn it down."

"No way. These guys rule." Gerard can't help the grin that spreads across his face. It's a relief when Frank returns it with his own slightly lopsided smile, sharing a moment of mutual approval before Frank hits the gas and they are tear out of the lot.

"So where are you from?" Frank's shouting over Billie Joe's vocals.

"Just local. About five minutes from the store." Gerard wishes he had more to say than that. Conversation's never been one of his strong points.

"Hey, that's convenient. Oh wait, I love this part!" Frank cranks the volume of the stereo even louder, singing along with Billie Joe, fingers drumming, head bouncing. It's fascinating. Gerard has to try not to stare, he's so full of energy, so uninhibited. Frank's enthusiasm is contagious, making Gerard want to join in and sing along but he's too self conscious, settling for just bobbing his head slightly, tapping out the beat on the windowsill with his fingers.

Blaring music aside, Frank's a careful driver. Gerard notices how he checks his blind spot before changing lanes, starts to slow down way before the stop light, always keeping an eye on his mirrors. That's just fine by Gerard, he's never thought much of idiot young guys who drive dangerously. It does make him wonder how long Frank's been driving though, because he still uses all the techniques they teach in Driver's Ed. He tries to guess Frank's age, but his small stature and the little-league style of the Pepi's uniform make it impossible to tell.

A thought occurs to Gerard as they pull up to the curb outside the delivery address. There's some information he didn't manage to get from Brian prior to being suddenly hired.

"Right, so hey, how much do we get paid?"

Frank's hand falls off the door release and he turns to stare at Gerard, shocked.

"You took the job without knowing what the pay was?" His voice pitches high with disbelief.

Gerard stares back dumbly for a moment before answering, "I didn't actually think I would get hired..."

Frank snorts, trying to hold back laughter. He doesn't manage it and soon he's hooting and giggling, leaving Gerard feeling like the stupidest person who ever lived. Frank gasps for air between snorts, trying to settle down.

"I'm sorry! Sorry, man. But that is so wild! You crazy fucker. I can't believe you did that." He wipes his hand over his eyes, schooling his features into something more serious though his eyes are still dancing.

"Okay. Okay. Pay." Frank flaps his hand around, looking thoughtful.. "We get like, five-fity an hour, and extra for deliveries depending on how far they are. Like fifty cents, a dollar, whatever - depending on mileage right?" Gerard nods. That doesn't sound like very much, but if he gets a few shifts a week it should be enough to keep him in CD's and cigarettes. Any money is good money when you're broke.

"Oh, and tips too. You can keep any tips you make - _when_ you get tips. A lot of fuckers don't bother, like they think 'cause you're driving a car not walking from the kitchen it doesn't count. Assholes." Frank huffs out an annoyed breath, making a loose lock of his black hair fly up.. His eyes flick to Gerard's face, like he's making sure it's all getting absorbed. "So should I bother finishing training you, or is the money too shitty?"

Gerard wasn't expecting that question, it takes him a moment to fish out an answer. "It's fine. I'll stick around. Don't have anything better to do."

"Cool." Frank actually looks pleased and Gerard can't help a little shiver of pleasure at the reaction. Frank actually seems to like him. This is a novelty. People don't usually like Gerard, Get annoyed with - yes. Tolerate - maybe. But like? Well, it's a new experience.

"Come on, then." Frank bounces out of the car, nabbing the hot bag from the back seat. "I'll show you how it's done."

It's pretty straightforward. They find the right apartment, Frank knocks, the customer answers; Frank quotes the order details, takes the money, hands over the pizza. Too simple. Transaction complete, they head back down to Frank's car.

"Easy, right?" Frank says, tossing the empty pizza bag in the air and catching it. The guy really can't keep still, he's always moving, fidgeting, full of energy. "So you want to do the next one?"

"Um. Sure." Gerard agrees. It doesn't look that hard.

They spend the rest of the shift like that, taking turns with the deliveries. When Gerard's driving his mom's car, they listen to The Misfits and when Frank's driving, they bounce between Green Day and Black Flag. Since both cars are ancient, they don't have CD players but tapes work just as well.

Gerard surprises himself by actually enjoying his shift, not so much the dealing with customers, but the rest is okay.Chatting in the car about random crap with Frank may not be in the job description, but that part is actually fun. Frank is a real talker, managing to hit on a bunch of Gerard's favourite subjects, and before he knows it, Gerard is waxing on himself along a bunch of different tangents. He can't remember the last time he talked so much. Even he and Mikey don't speak at such length, but then, they have a shorthand that's had years to develop.

When they get back from their sixth or seventh delivery, Brian indicates that they can both clock out. The store is much emptier now, dinner rush long over and only a couple of red shirts are still on shift, wiping benches and packing away pans. Frank shows Gerard how to count up and settle his money (or "float" as Frank keeps calling it), then they fill out their time cards and hand them in.

Brian takes Gerard's with a smile commenting, "Good work tonight."

When Gerard doesn't really chime in, Brian continues, "So do you think you'll stick around?"

"Um. Yeah. Sure." Gerard's feeling pretty good, he can stick around.

"Okay then, be back same time Monday, Wednesday and Friday. And if you're doing all right with that, we'll see about a lunch shift weekends."

"Sure. Okay." Gerard feels a skitter in his chest but he's not sure if it's nervousness or pleasure that he did okay. He goes with the latter, heading out back towards the parking lot. On the way, he passes Frank at one of the sinks, arms twisted into a strange position, his face hovering close to the stainless steel splashback above the faucet. It takes a moment for Gerard to decipher that Frank's using the shiny surface as a mirror as he attempts to fit a ring through his lip. He grunts with frustration, then sighs as he gets it through and clicks it closed.

"You have a lip ring." Gerard states the obvious.

"Yeah. Bitch of a thing though, they won't let me leave it in when I'm on the clock so I have to keep taking it out, putting it back in. Boring!"

Frank finally turns to face Gerard, giving him a proper look at Frank's face with the lip ring. He's also taken off his hat, revealing dyed-black hair shorn short at the sides, but long at the top and front. Despite retaining some amount of hat hair, the overall impression it leaves is cool and punk-looking. Gerard feels conspicuously uncool by comparison. As ugly as the uniforms are, they at least put everybody on equal footing - they dorkify everyone and there's solidarity in that. Now Gerard's getting a peek at what Frank really looks like and it's a bit intimidating to a guy with long girly hair and a completely unpierced body.

Gerard becomes aware that he's been silent too long. He hurries to fill the gap, "Thanks for training me."

"Hey, thanks for paying attention. You totally have to lend me some music, though."

"Sure." A smile finds its way onto Gerard's face without him really being aware of it.

"Hey, some guys are heading over to Ray's tonight to hang out. You should come." Frank's voice is casual, but Gerard finds himself thinking that if he had to pick a word for Frank's facial expression, he would go with "hopeful".

It makes him want to smile harder, until he remembers, "I can't. My mom needs the car tonight. I have to get home." He's caught between relief and severe disappointment. Hanging out with Frank more would be cool - though somehow scary, like he's worried Frank's suddenly going to discover that Gerard is a giant loser.

"Oh right. Bummer." Frank starts to turn away, but stops with a thought. "But hey, you said you live local right?" Gerard nods. "You could drop your car off and I'll give you a ride?" His voice is picking up speed again, like he's excited. He catches himself, quickly adding, "If you want to, that is. Like, if you're free."

Gerard is free. Is he ever. Unless he counts his original plans to vegetate in front of the TV until he falls asleep, which he's fairly certain don't qualify.

"Okay, yeah. Um. Yeah."

"Great. So, I'll follow you to yours, okay?" Frank's smiling big now and there's a grin tugging on Gerard's lip too. Gerard nods and follows Frank to the parking lot, They each climb into their vehicles, when on a whim Gerard digs into the glove compartment and pulls out an Iron Maiden tape.

"Hey Frank!" he calls through his window to where Frank's parked a few yards away. Frank winds the window down and Gerard throws him the tape.

"Get it warmed up for me." Gerard yells. Frank reads the label on the tape and nods up at Gerard, smile twisting his lip, making his lip ring glint in the streetlight glare. He taps the tape to his temple and salutes Gerard with it.

***

It takes no time at all to get to the Way house, even with Gerard driving carefully to make sure Frank doesn't lose him in traffic. He pulls up in the driveway as Frank parks on the street. For a split-second he considers inviting Frank in, but it feels too soon, and he's not sure if he dismisses it for Frank's sake or his own. Maybe he's just not ready to share him yet.

He hops out of the car, indicating to Frank with two fingers and a jingle of the keys that he'll be two minutes returning them. Frank gives him a nod in the middle of some pretty enthusiastic air guitar/headbanging combo and Gerard smothers a grin as he heads inside.

"Mom, I'm home! I'm going out again! Leaving the keys in the kitchen!" The keys drop to the table with a jangle and Gerard's hauling ass down the stairs two at a time, not wanting to keep Frank waiting too long. His mom shouts something back, but he doesn't really hear and he doesn't really care; he needs to keep moving. He wonders if he's caught some of Frank's excess energy because this is a wild amount of motion for him.

As he walks into his room he's confronted with his reflection in the wardrobe mirror. He'd forgotten just how dicky the uniform made him look; god he looks like the last fifth grader picked for the dodgeball team. He decides he has time to at least change his shirt, throwing off the dorky baseball cap.

When he opens the closet and is greeted by a dozen empty hangers and no shirts, he curses his mom's 'do your own laundry after graduation' rule. There is a pile of smelly black t-shirts on the floor; he can almost see stench lines rising from it. He'll just have to borrow something of Mikey's.

Hustling into his brother's room, he heads straight for the closet and starts picking through.

"Hey!" Mikey manages to sum up the violation of his privacy and his wardrobe in one word.

"I need to borrow a shirt." Gerard says dismissively, rifling through the hangers looking for one of Mikey's larger shirts (because Mikey is a human stick who never puts on weight, which is completely unfair), preferably without some Brit angst band on the front. He strikes gold when he finds one of his own Misfits shirts lost in amongst the wailing UK posers. "This one's mine. I'm taking it."

He wrenches it off the hanger and is racing toward the door when Mikey spins in his chair, apparently having seen something more interesting than whatever he was doing on the internet.

"Hang on!" There a note in Mikey's voice that makes Gerard stop and turn around, shirt still clutched in his hands.

"What's going on?" Mikey demands, eyes slit and assessing.

Gerard shrugs. "Some of the guys from work are hanging out tonight. I got a ride waiting."

"No, what's going on with you? You're like... beaming. You don't beam." Mikey's face is full of curiosity and a bit of skepticism.

"I'm sorry?" Gerard does his best clueless expression, but he can feel a blush creeping up his neck. Trust Mikey to notice he's in a good mood. Possibly the best mood he's been in in a long time.

Mikey raises one eyebrow, managing to communicate _I don't believe you, I don't trust you_ and _I know you're withholding_ , all contained in that one muscle movement.

"I'm in a rush?" Gerard tries this time. Mikey just keeps looking at him, eyes penetrating from behind his thick glasses. Damn him. He knows all he has to do is wait. Gerard sighs and sits down on the bed. "So I had a good time at work. One of the guys there is really nice. We're going to hang out."

"You made a friend? Good for you." From anyone else, that sentence would be a dig. But it's Mikey, so he knows it's sincere. The smile that's been hovering on the edge of Gerard's lips returns full force so fast it's embarrassing. Mikey watches him a moment, almost like he's memorizing the image of his brother looking, well, pretty happy, then he spins his chair back to the computer screen.

Gerard takes it as the dismissal it is, getting back to his feet. He's nearly out the door when Mikey adds.

"Mom's staying at Aunt Layla's tonight. Probably won’t be back til tomorrow." Mikey's glance back over his shoulder says the rest, _no curfew, stay out all night if you like._

That's why Mikey is such an awesome brother. He may not say much, but he knows things.

***

Gerard is flustered by the time he gets to Frank's car, feeling like he's taken way too long. Between the heart-to-heart with Mikey, changing shirts and rubbing some product through his hair in an attempt to counteract the baseball cap-inflicted hat hair, he's sure he's exceeded the polite amount of waiting around time.

He pulls the passenger door open, fumbling his way inside and muttering "Sorry" at Frank.

Frank looks completely unbothered. His seat is reclined all the way back and he's got the driver door open, window rolled down and his feet propped on it, lying back pretty much horizontal, smoking and tapping his fingers to Iron Maiden.

"No panic. I just got comfortable," he says, blowing smoke up into the car. Gerard immediately wants to light up; he hasn't had one since before his shift, and he can _smell_ the nicotine in the car. But he only has five left to last him til whenever payday is. _Fuck it_. He'll have one anyway.

He pulls out a crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds and lights one, breathing in sweet nicotine and resting his head back on the seat rest as a billion sensors in his brain all sigh at once. Yeah, he's definitely an addict. Nerves soothed, he glances over at Frank who is sucking the last hit from his cigarette. He's changed his shirt to a plain tight black t-shirt that doesn't swallow him whole, instead hugging across his chest.

Gerard realizes too late that he is staring, but there's something almost sensual about the way Frank smokes, it's like his whole body relaxes with each outward breath, his eyes half closed, his movements lazy. It's almost post-coital. Gerard looks away before he's caught drinking in every inch of Frank, from his messy black hair to his dirty Chucks.

Frank finishes his cigarette, stubbing out the butt into the car's ashtray, and pulling his seat upright. He glances over to Gerard, who's still in blissful first-cigarette-in-six-hours ecstasy and they share the smile of two sated addicts.

Frank's door slams shut, the engine turns over, and they're on their way to Ray's.

***

As they pull up out front of Ray's tiny little house, parking alongside a crowd of other cars, Gerard can hear the low pounding of music coming from inside. Given his aversion to large groups of people he's a little nervous, but determined. It's been a good day so far: he's managed to get a job, get through his first shift, and make a friend. Maybe he can make a few more.

Gerard follows Frank up the path to the front door, which isn't locked. When they get inside there's already about five or six guys are scattered around the boxy living room, some playing Playstation, others drinking beer and chatting. A couple of them are still in their Pepi's shirts complete with name tags, so Gerard is able to cheat a bit on the whole remembering names thing.

"What's up, bitches?" Frank greets the room loudly.

The room responds with a muddle of greetings including one "who are you calling a bitch, little man?" That's Ray, the one guy who's name Gerard actually remembers from the store, mainly due to the way his crop of orange hair made his cap sit high on his head, bits of fluffy hair poking out from every opening, like his hair just can't be contained. His cap is off now and Ray's hair unconstrained is truly a thing to be marveled at. Gerard's fingers itch for a pencil, he wants to sketch it.

"Where's the beer, asshole?" Frank shoots back at Ray, softening the harsh words with his light tone. "Hey, you remember Gerard, he started today?"

"Hey," Ray's smiling warmly at Gerard and the loser negative part of Gerard's brain wonders if it's just for Frank's benefit. He tells that part of his brain to shut it just as Ray points towards the fridge, sending Frank bouncing off in search of beer.

Gerard fights the overwhelming urge to follow Frank to the kitchen; he doesn't want to be the guy that just latches on annoyingly, so he sits down instead, sinking into an old couch that smells like boys living on their own.

"So, this is your place?" Gerard makes his best attempt at conversation with Ray.

"Yeah, and Matt's." He indicates one of the guys button-mashing on the Playstation. "So did Brian pull the high-pressure hire on you?"

"Yeah, it was kinda sudden." Gerard admits, "I only went in to ask around this afternoon, and then he's handing me this t-shirt..."

Ray laughs like this is a story he's heard too many times. "Fucking Brian, man, he's getting worse. Soon he'll be setting man-traps in the parking lot."

Gerard snickers, because it paints a pretty clear mental image for him.

"Why's he so desperate for new drivers? Did someone quit?" Gerard asks.

"No way." Ray's laughing, shaking his head. "Brian is _always_ looking for new drivers. Do you know how hard it is to find guys willing to work for such shit money, and not just that, but are willing to drive their own car?"

"Hmm." A few pieces of the puzzle fall into place for Gerard. "So are you saying I'm a sucker for taking the job?"

"If you are, then we all are." Ray responds in the same light tone, swilling his beer.

"Yeah, we're all suckers. We're Brian's fucking loser army!" Frank chimes in, climbing over the back of the sofa to plop down beside Gerard. He's carrying two beers in one hand and a freshly lit cigarette in the other. Gerard's not entirely sure how he managed that maneuver with two open beers without spilling, but he's impressed. Frank hands one of the beers to Gerard, who accepts it with a half-smile. He's distracted by Frank's cigarette, already craving another one of his own, knowing that once he starts drinking it's only going to get worse.

"So, when's payday?" He asks Frank and Ray, wondering how far he's going to have to ration his last four smokes.

Ray and Frank are silent. Ray's glaring at Frank.

"What the fuck, man? You didn't tell him?" Ray gives Frank a slap up the back of his head.

"Shit! I'm sorry!" Frank directs this at Gerard. "Dude, I'm sorry, I totally forgot."

"Forgot what?" Gerard is really confused now.

"There's no set payday. You just hit Brian up at the end of your shift and he'll give you cash." Ray says, still glaring daggers at Frank. "Frank should've told you."

"Damn." Gerard's trying really hard not to show his crushing disappointment, because Frank looks really, really sorry, but... "I could've bought cigarettes." Gerard flops back against the couch, gnawing his lip and clawing a hand through his hair.

Before he can blink, Frank's shoved his own lit cigarette between Gerard's lips, apologizing profusely. "Here, take it. I have a whole fresh pack. You can bum as many as you like, ok? I'm really sorry!"

Gerard breathes in slowly, savoring the lungful of free smoke. Suddenly, the world is looking a whole lot brighter. If this were a cartoon, Gerard would have hearts in eyes because hey, Frank's offering him an open-ended supply of cigarettes and making puppy eyes at him and damn, but his eyes are this really interesting colour…

"Thanks. It's cool. Don't worry about it." Gerard smiles around his cigarette. Frank's look of relief is so worth it. He smiles and slurps some beer, scrabbling in his pockets to light himself a new cigarette.

The rest of the night is, well... fun. Ray beats him at Tekken at least five times, they drink their way through several six-packs of beer, he bums about eight cigarettes from Frank, and Frank hands each one over with a smile and those distracting amber-green eyes. The other guys are really nice to him, they treat him like he's normal, talking about music, computer games, movies, television, porn, whatever.

Gerard can't help but wonder if this is what high school was like for other guys. Guys who weren't losers getting beat up in hallways and locker rooms. Guys who weren't weird and being called "fag" and hiding in the library drawing demons and zombies and gore. He must've missed out on this kind of thing because he was a loser in high school. It's not until he's well on the way to being smashed when it dawns on him that every other guy in the room was most likely a loser in high school, too. Frank's right, they _are_ a loser army.

He's five beers down when he notices Frank's battered wallet lying on the coffee table. Frank must've pulled it out of his back pocket to get more comfortable, understandable really - those jeans look really tight. Feeling like starting some trouble, he nabs it off the table, tearing open the Velcro and flicking through the contents.

"What are y' doing?" Frank grumbles around the neck of the beer bottle he's still half-sucking. Gerard glances at him and gets stuck on looking at Frank's mouth around the bottle neck for a moment before shaking himself out of it to reply.

"Looking through your wallet."

"Don't. S' personal." The beer is stealing random vowels from Frank's speech. But Frank doesn't try to grab the wallet back, just remains where he is, flaked out and looking smaller than ever, as if he's about to be swallowed by the squishy couch.

Gerard finds Frank's driver's license and finally the mystery of Frank's age is solved. The kid is seventeen. Jesus. A local public school library card confirms that Frank is still in high school and suddenly Gerard feels every day of his twenty one years.

"Gimme." Frank's got a hand out, wiggling his fingers. Gerard nearly hands the wallet back, but thinks the better of it and pulls out his own to hand over in its place.

"Fair trade." Frank takes it and starts rifling through it. He finds Gerard's license immediately and starts poking fun at the unflattering photo, showing it to the guys and giggling.

There's not a whole lot else in Frank's wallet. License, library card, bank card, random receipts, an expired condom and about seven bucks in change. Gerard nearly pulls out the condom to tease Frank with it, but thinks the better of it, he's not ready to make an enemy if he takes it the wrong way. He studies the license again, Frank's face is pale in the photo, eyes looking huge. Then something about the birth date clicks.

"No fucking way. You were born on Halloween?"

Frank's nodding and grinning, smug as hell, everything about him saying 'it's good to be a gangsta'.

"That fucking rules." Gerard's still impressed.

Frank crawls across the couch, settling closer to Gerard.

"S' next month, when I hit eighteen, I'm totally getting a tattoo. Jack-o-lantern. Rule."

Frank crumples into a heap at the end of that statement, flopping down to lie on his side, head on Gerard's knee. Gerard's a little freaked out by the contact, it's so familiar for someone he's only met today. But it's Frank, so far he likes Frank, and this just seems to be his way, so Gerard will deal.

"Jack-o-lantern. On my back." Frank mutters, flailing his hand in a half-assed gesture towards his back.

"Cool." Gerard's not sure what to say. Tattoos are cool but he'll never get one. Not unless there's some way they could do it without needles. He glances down at Frank and realizes that Frank's passed out. Well no need to continue the conversation then. He leans back and lets the drowsiness pull him under too.

***

When he wakes up his neck hurts and he's annoyed to discover he's got one hand tangled in Frank's hair. The room is brightening with the first light of new day. Glancing around, he sees he and Frank aren't the only ones who crashed here; there are a couple of other bodies strewn across the floor and couches. Frank's still asleep, looking peaceful and way too young, head pillowed on Gerard's leg. Something inside Gerard clenches at the sight. He belatedly realizes that he's absently playing with Frank's hair, his fingers stroking gently through the soft strands.

Mortified at his own behavior, he pulls his hand away a little too quickly, disturbing Frank who mutters, grimaces and wakes, eyes fluttering open to find Gerard looking down at him.

"Morning." Gerard greets him with a wonky handwave, trying his best to sound and look normal and not like a guy who just plays with other guys' hair when they're sleeping. Frank doesn't seem to notice anything amiss, flipping over onto his back, still using Gerard for a pillow.

"Too early." He moans, covering his eyes with his hands. Gerard just chuckles, relieved, stretching his arms out across the back of the couch. He decides it's too early in the morning to be thinking too much. First things first.

"So, ummm… coffee?"

***

When Frank drops Gerard back home, he's got a Starbucks in his hand and a smile on his face.

"See you Monday."

"Right on." Frank gives him a nod and a wave, then he's off with a grunt of the old engine, Black Flag blaring in his wake.

Gerard's got that unwashed, edge-of-hangover feeling as he climbs down the stairs, but he doesn't crawl back into bed like he usually would. Instead, he couches out in the den, half-watching Evil Dead and sketching out pumpkins in his sketchbook.

Mikey joins him on the couch around the point where the annoying scream girl is getting raped by trees.

"Good party?"

"Yep." Gerard answers, shading the underside of a pumpkin.

Mikey doesn't say anything else. Just watches him with those bloody knowing eyes of his for a long moment before turning back to the carnage on the screen.

***

Working becomes routine pretty quickly for Gerard. Doing deliveries on his own isn't quite as fun as doing them with Frank, but the work is easy and whenever the store is busy and crowded he's always away from it, out on the road, with Billie Joe or Doyle or Danzig or whoever to keep him company.

On the quiet shifts, the drivers on duty tend to run amok and drive Brian up the wall. When Ray's gravity-defying hair suffers a stealth jalapeno juice attack at the hands of Matt, Frank retaliates by locking Matt into cold storage. Gerard helps Frank hold the door closed as Matt pounds away on the other side. They keep him in there for nearly twenty minutes, until Brian finally intervenes on behalf of "Workplace Health and Safety".

When Friday rolls around and Gerard shows up to work for his fourth shift straight without washing his shirt, Brian grumbles and sprays him with Febreze.

"You know you're supposed to wash it between shifts, right?"

Gerard just shrugs. It's only going to end up smelling like pizza again in twenty minutes, anyway. It's not like Brian's gonna send him home, he'd be short a driver for the night. Brian is well aware of this but gives him a withering look anyway.

Ray yells a greeting across the store at him as he makes his way down the back to the sinks. Gerard responds with a nod and a smile, giving Matt a friendly bump as he passes him. It's a little mind-blowing how quickly Gerard got comfortable with being here in the store, with the guys. He's used to feeling out of place, the eternal square peg, but it's only been a week and he already feels like he owns this place. Best of all, he hasn't run out of cigarettes since he's been employed.

He falls in beside Frank, who's washing up pans in the giant industrial sink.

"Hey."

"Hey Gee!" Franks flicks a wet sponge at him, mischievous grin curling his naked lip. Gerard always misses seeing the lip ring when Frank's in uniform, and this is no exception.

"Hey, fuck off!" Gerard wipes the water spatter off his face, giving Frank a shove but grinning the whole time.

"You coming to Ray's tonight?" Frank asks, handing the freshly washed pan to Gerard to stack.

"Shit yeah. Smokes are on me tonight, 'kay?"

"Cool." Frank nods enthusiastically, slopping water everywhere.

Then Brian calls "Orders up!" and they're on the road for the rest of the night.

***

Three hours later and forty dollars richer, Gerard's clocked out. He's waiting for Frank to get back from his last delivery, since they'll be heading over to the Way household to dump his mom's car again. He's kicked back on one of the benches in the customer waiting area, doodling on the back of an order docket.

He's not really thinking about what he's drawing until it starts to take shape, darkly curved lines forming crescents and stalk, hollow eyes and a crooked mouth, until there’s a jack-o-lantern grinning up at him. The lines and shapes are nearly right, closer than the five he scribbled in the back of his notebook anyway, even though he had a proper pencil and sketchpad to make those. But it’s messy as hell. He frowns down at the picture, the crappy ballpoint pen has left the drawing all smudgy and blotchy and there's even a smear of pizza sauce in the corner.

"Hey, that's cool." Like some kind of ninja, Frank's peering over his shoulder. Gerard's hand moves to abortively cover the drawing, suddenly ashamed but it's too late, Frank's eyes are already devouring every line.

"The mouth, it's like happy but creepy. Wicked." Frank's voice is awed, he grins sideways at Gerard making his face grow hot.

"It's not very good." Gerard protests, fingers flexing to crumple the paper, but Frank snatches it out of his hand first.

"I like it. I'm keeping it." He's out of range before Gerard has time to protest, flattening out the paper and sliding it into his back pocket.

***

This time when Frank and Gerard get to the Way household, Gerard actually invites Frank in.

His mom isn't home but Mikey is and Gerard's a little apprehensive about introducing him to Frank. He's not sure why... Well, he is, actually. Because not only does Mikey know things, but his opinion is probably the only one in the world Gerard really gives a shit about. He's in the den reading when Gerard finds him. He leans in the doorway, Frank hovering behind him.

"Hey Mikes." Mikey looks up from his book at the sound of his brother's voice, "This is Frank, from the store."

Mikey's lensed gaze travels from his brother to the short punk kid with a lip-ring and a Dawn of the Dead t-shirt standing next to him .

"Cool shirt." Mikey says in his usual monotone, before dropping his eyes back to his book.

Wow. Amazing. This reaction from Mikey is basically the equivalent of him giving Frank a full body hug, the grabby excited kind that fourteen-year-old girls give, complete with shrieking and bouncing. Gerard smiles with relief.

"Thanks." Frank says with a grin, drawing Mikey's gaze up from his book again. "Hey, a bunch of us from the store are hanging out tonight, you wanna come?"

Gerard feels like an ass for not thinking to invite Mikey himself. He chimes in, "Yeah, Mikey, come on, it'll be fun."

Mikey looks a little lost for a moment, his fingers tightening on the book. He looks at Gerard questioningly, and Gerard gives him a raised eyebrow and a nod. A silent _yes, I really do want you to come_.

"Um. Okay."

So they're a threesome when they arrive at Ray's. Frank takes over the introductions, for which Gerard will be eternally thankful, because even with a week at the store under his belt he's still terrible with names. Ray is particularly attentive to Mikey when they're introduced, asking a bunch of questions, unfazed by Mikey's brief, droll replies. When Ray starts waxing poetic on the ten bands that changed his life, Gerard feels like he's probably not really needed anymore. With one final glance at Mikey confirming that yes, that is Mikey's interested face, not his "rescue me" face (though the difference between the two has taken his lifetime to learn), he slips into the kitchen.

Frank is opening and closing cupboards and drawers, leaving doors hanging askew, all frantic motion.

"What are we drinking?" Gerard asks, leaning forward on the bench watching Frank bounce from cupboard to cupboard.

"Vodka!" Frank announces, handing the bottle of liquor to Gerard distractedly.

"With what?" Gerard asks, twisting the cap off and lining up a couple of glasses.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Fucking Ray has nothing. No mixers." A glance into the fridge confirms this.

"We can just drink it straight." Gerard suggests, his comment directed at Frank's ass, which is the only part of him that's visible. The rest of Frank has vanished deep into a corner cupboard as he continues his search for mixers. Gerard's snickering at the way Frank's ass wiggles as he searches; he's bent over so far his underwear's visible above the waist of his jeans, as well as an expanse of skin on his lower back. It takes Gerard a moment to realize he's stopped appreciating the humor in the view, and is now just appreciating the view.

He gives himself a quick internal slap, then Frank re-emerges triumphant, brandishing a large tin that looks like it's been around since the Second World War.

"Score!" Frank shouts, slamming the can down onto the bench. Gerard scoops it up, reading the yellowed label.

"Fruit cocktail in light syrup." The picture shows diced fruit. "I don't think they mean that kind of cocktail." Gerard warns, jiggling the can at Frank with a raised eyebrow, but Frank's having none of it.

"It's practically fruit juice!" He counters, grabbing out the can opener and cranking the top open.

Gerard's not convinced. "Fine, your funeral."

Frank mixes two drinks anyway, and though Gerard knows it will all end in tears, he still chinks his glass to Frank's and takes a gulp. It is really, truly awful. The syrup is thick and doesn't really mix with the vodka, just swirls in globs around it. Both the vodka and the syrup are lukewarm, and the overwhelming sticky sweetness of the syrup being chased by the throat-burning vodka is not a sensation Gerard's in a rush to repeat. Plus, the floating chunks of fruit kind of make him gag.

They both huff out a breath, feeling the burn, faces scrunching in discomfort as they put their glasses down.

"That's disgusting." Gerard moans.

"Always a critic." Frank complains, swatting at Gerard distractedly. They drink it anyway, because it would be wasteful otherwise.

"What is that?" Ray's pointing at the half-assed concoction as they return to the living room, climbing onto the ratty couch with glasses in hand.

Before Gerard has a chance to say _you don't want to know and you really, really don't want one,_ Frank has already chimed in.

"It's fruity! It's delicious! It's fruitylicious!"

"It really isn't." Gerard feels the urge to add.

"Isn't fruity, or isn't delicious?" Frank shoots back at him, wiggling his glass.

"Neither. It's kind of gross." That earns him a shove from Frank's foot and a stuck-out tongue. It doesn't stop him from drinking three more when Frank mixes them, though. He's nearly drunk enough that they taste passable when he sees Ray pulling out a guitar.

"Holy shit dude, you play?" The question is out of his mouth without checking with his brain first.

"A little." Ray ducks his head, hiding under his curly 'fro.

"Play something." Mikey chimes in, looking about as eager as Gerard has ever seen him. Gerard can't even blame the alcohol, because Mikey's been nursing the same drink for nearly an hour now.

Ray does play, strumming out a pretty melody, which Gerard eventually realizes is Metallica's 'Unforgiven'. He's actually really good, fingers sliding over the frets, hitting on the chords, halfheartedly muttering the lyrics under his breath. Gerard's impressed, but then he is completely in awe of anyone who can play an instrument. He's tried a few times and always feels like his clumsy fingers are tripping over themselves.

Ray strums out the ending and Gerard fights the urge to clap, offering, "Jeez dude, you're really good," instead.

Mikey chimes in, grinning at Ray, "You could be in a band, that sounded great." The way Ray smiles back at his brother, Gerard knows there's something going on there. But hey whatever, it's Mikey's business, not his, and Ray seems nice enough.

Ray slips the guitar strap off his shoulder and passes the guitar to Frank.

"Your turn, Iero."

Frank groans reluctantly. "Jesus Toro, I'm half-cut and you want me to follow that? Not cool guy, not fucking cool." But that doesn't stop him shrugging the strap over his shoulder and settling the acoustic in his lap. Gerard's mouth is pretty much hanging down somewhere by his knees at this point. Who knew he was surrounded by musicians?

"No one told me you need to be able to play guitar to work at Pepi's." He jokes.

"You don't." Matt chimes in. "I play drums."

Gerard has to stifle a laugh into the back of his hand, nearly sloshing fruitylicious on himself. Jesus, who fucking knew, indeed?

Frank kicks into something fast and plucky and furious. Gerard can't help studying him as he plays. Even though he's sitting down, it's like he uses his whole body, spine curling forward, eyes creasing, feet and knees bouncing. This is where all that untapped energy goes, Gerard's thinking, he funnels it all into the instrument, belting out noise. Frank's grunting out the lyrics low and gruff as he plays.

Gerard doesn't recognize the song, but he likes it, something about hitting on a checkout girl. It's up and energetic, making his fingers drum on the couch arm as he listens. Frank drops the odd note, but recovers well each time; if he didn't pull a face every time he did, Gerard might not have noticed. He laughs messily into his shoulder as the song finishes, pulling the guitar out of his lap and handing it back to Ray.

"Well, that sucked." Frank sums up, snatching his drink and trying to hide in it.

"No way." Gerard's not having any of it. "That was awesome, what were you playing?"

"You don't know the Bouncing Souls? I haven't played them for you before?" Frank's voice is pitched up like there's something very amiss. "They're local, fucking awesome punk act. They're playing the Pipeline next month, you should come to a show." He slugs back some more of his drink, making a face. "Change your life."

"Sure, okay." Like Gerard's gonna say no. His life could use some changing.

"Hey, Gee," Ray's calling for his attention. He and Mikey have got their heads together about something. "Tell your brother he wants to work at Pepi's."

"Dude, Mikey doesn't drive." It's all a bit confusing to Gerard's vodka-addled brain.

"Argh. You're like echoes!" Ray groans, glaring between the two Ways, settling on Mikey. "You don't need to drive. You can answer phones, right? Make pizza?"

"I don't know about Mikey and heat-creating appliances. He's got some back luck with that sorta shit..." Gerard interjects, thinking about that incident with the toaster.

Ray's looking homicidal. "Frank, back me up here. Mikey should totally get a job."

Frank scratches his head, chewing his lip ring. "Brian's not really hiring regular staff at the moment, he only wants drivers. You know, versatility and shit."

"Argh! So what!" Ray's looking ready to rip out his 'fro. "Brian doesn't need to know Mikey can't drive." He states conspiratorially. "Gerard, did he actually ask to see your license?"

"No, he didn't. I mean it all happened so fast." Suddenly the penny drops for Gerard. "Fuck you Toro, you are so right. He'll hire Mikey so fast he won't know what hit him."

"So he'll hire me, then I turn up _sans_ car and he'll fire me again." Mikey states quite logically, glasses balancing precariously on the end of his nose.

"No, he won’t, see." Ray continues, "Once you're in the door you'll be fine, I'll show you how to do the phones and stuff, and I bet you it'll take him an hour or two to even notice you're not taking deliveries."

"And _then_ he'll fire me." Mikey adds.

"No, by then he'll have figured out that you're useful enough to keep around. Trust me. This'll work." Ray's got that evil genius look going on, making Gerard more than a little suspicious. Ray can't be _that_ concerned about Mikey having pocket money. Gerard really hopes he's not going to be expected to have some kind of brotherly chat about intentions with either of them.

"I bet he doesn't last a week." Frank interjects, the words coming out in a cloud of smoke as he burns through one of Gerard's cigarettes. Gerard follows his lead and grabs one for himself. Frank lights it for him.

"I'll take that bet, Iero. Ten bucks Mikey'll be employed for at least a week."

Gerard laughs so hard he almost starts coughing. Brave talk, Ray. Very fucking brave.

***

It's well past midnight when all the vodka finally hits Gerard's bladder. They've moved on from the "talking shit and playing Playstation" section of the night to the "watching splatterfest films and yelling at the TV" portion. Gerard has to lift Frank's legs off him to get up off the couch. Frank's only half conscious at this point, buzzed out on vodka and floppy on the cushions, so he doesn't complain very loudly.

Gerard's passing the spare bedroom on his way to the bathroom, he doesn't mean to glance in but his eyes just flick over and he sees this is where Ray and Mikey got to. They're not doing anything particularly suspect. Mikey's got Ray's guitar in his hands, strap over his shoulder and Ray's standing behind him, guiding Mikey's hands on the strings. Mikey's movements are really uncertain on the guitar, but he's glancing back at Ray with this little half-smile that, on anyone else, would be a full beam all-teeth-showing grin. Ray's smiling down at Mikey, their fingers tangled together, and the whole thing is just a little too intimate for Gerard.

The way Ray is looking at Mikey, just beaming at him, makes Gerard feel guilty to see it. It also stirs a longing in him. Something inside him clenches and a runaway thought flits through his head. _If only Frank would look at me like that._ His heart flips at the thought, stomach dropping to his knees.

Oh shit.

He comes back to himself in a rush, heart pounding, still standing in the hallway. He looks away guiltily and slips quickly by, hoping he wasn't seen. He rushes into the bathroom, shutting the door and sinking onto the cold tiles.

Well, fuck.

It's finally hit him. He is totally crushing on Frank. Probably has been since his very first day on the job.

"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!" He mashes his hands over his face, heart pounding, head all messed up. What a moronic fucking thing to do. He's finally got something good going on, a job, new friends, a place where he fucking _belongs_ , and what does he do? He finds the quickest and most perfect way to wreck it. Getting all starry-eyed over a cute punk guy. An underage cute punk guy. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

What the hell does he do about this? Should he quit Pepi's? Should he start avoiding Frank? Should he make a move?

No, definitely not the last one. No way. That would be suicide. From what Gerard knows of Frank, he's got to be straight, right? It's not like the punk scene is well-known for its open-minded stance on sexuality. So, no, that would be a royally stupid idea.

It doesn't stop Gerard thinking about it for a little while. Wondering what it would be like to kiss Frank. Would his lip ring be cool to touch, or warm from his own skin? He would probably use a lot of tongue, move a lot, be really intense. He'd probably be grabby too, pulling on Gerard's hair and clenching his fingers on his ass.

Gerard gives himself a shake. Well, that was smart. Now, in addition to having a major fucking issue on his hands and no idea how to solve it, he's also sporting wood.

He emits a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and sob, curling into a ball on the hard tiles. He shoves his arms down between his legs, trapping his hands between his thighs and tries really hard not to think about Frank. He manages it for about thirty seconds.

Fuck. He can't go back out there like this. He's gotta calm down. He tries to think about gross things, unsexy things, but keeps coming back to amber-green eyes and pierced lips.

It's not that he doesn't think about taking care of his, well, problem. The thought is very tempting. But the idea of jerking off in the bathroom thinking about Frank, and then having to go back out there and face him, is just too far off the scale to really contemplate. He's just gonna stay in here until it goes down. While he's at it, he can figure out what to do about this mess.

He lies there curled on the floor, tiles cool against the side of his face, for maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. Long enough to decide he has no recourse, that these new weird feelings he has for his coworker are nobody's business but his own and don't need to affect things at all.

He's just going to ignore them. Panic attacks in the bathroom aside, it shouldn't make any difference to his life, right?

A soft tap on the door is the only warning he gets before it's nudging his foot as it opens. Then he's squinting up at the intruder as the fluorescents flicker on. It's Mikey.

"Jesus, Gee." Mikey is understandably surprised to find his brother sprawled unceremoniously on the bathroom floor. When Gerard's eyes finally unsquint enough to see properly, Mikey's looking mussed and kiss-swollen. Gerard's pretty sure he knows why.

"There something you want to tell me?" He asks his brother pointedly.

Mikey just fires it back at him, "There something you want to tell _me_?"

And it's a standoff.

Gerard lets Mikey help him to his feet. His _little_ problem is pretty much over now, but the big one remains. He leaves Mikey to the bathroom and stumbles back out to the living room. Most of the guys are passed out snoring now and Gerard feels pretty ready to join them, welcoming the idea of sleep and its built-in escape from his problems.

His spot on the couch is still free, plenty of room to stretch out comfortably next to Frank who's unconscious and drooling a little, but somehow still appealing under the flickering light of the TV. Gerard takes the floor instead, arranging himself uncomfortably across the grubby carpet.

It takes him a long, long time to get to sleep.

***

Three days later Gerard has to admit that Operation: Don't Think About Frank is a complete fucking failure.

It's not entirely his fault. Frank insisted on getting Gerard's cell number, even though he doesn't have his own phone. Hell, what Gerard has barely qualifies as a phone, it's an old brick on a cheap-ass contract that he's only supposed to use for emergencies.

He's very carefully not thinking about how warm Frank's skin is when he scrawls the number on his forearm in marker. It's not a dating thing, far from it, Frank is going to need to contact him about the Pipeline gig. It's not like when a girl gives a guy his number and then fusses about when he's going to call. He tells himself all this and he mostly believes it. Part of him really, really hopes he's wrong. But it's the incredibly stupid part.

So when he gets a text message from an unknown number mid-morning on Monday he's a little puzzled.

 _if you lose count of how many cookies you ate the calorie intake ceases to exist. true story._

He wonders if maybe it was a wrong number.

When he gets another one later that afternoon, from a different number, he's even more puzzled, but starting to cotton on.

 _the night time is the right time for watching munsters n painting pics of vampire robots._

Frank never signs off on any of them. But there's no question it's him, and not just because he's the only one who's got Gerard's number. Gerard can almost picture him, sweet talking one of his classmates into letting him use their phone, or maybe just grabbing up any unattended phone he can find, tapping out a quick message and hitting send before putting it right back where he found it.

 _we need a serial killer who only targets bad drivers, ppl who talk at movies n ppl who push thru ppl when walking_

Gerard never replies. For one, he hasn't really figured out how to, but mostly because he's sure Frank wouldn't get the message since he's always sending from random phones. Hell, replying might even get Frank into trouble. So he doesn't. But that doesn't stop the messages coming. It certainly doesn't stop Gerard's heart from doing a little flip-flop every time his phone beeps out its staccato message alert.

Mikey catches him at it on Tuesday. They're watching X-Men reruns on cable and Gerard is sketching Wolverine's adamantium claws on his sketchpad when his phone goes off loudly. Gerard's got it on the couch next to him, because he's started carrying it around since Frank's been texting him, which is probably already note-worthy to Mikey's all-seeing eyes.

When Gerard reads the message, snickers softly and plops the phone back down it earns a raised eyebrow from his little brother.

"What?" Gerard asks defensively, Mikey just stares muttering, "Nothing" before turning back to the TV.

***

Ray is absolutely right about Mikey.

The day Mikey "applies" at Pepi's, Gerard waits outside the store feeling like a spy. Mikey's inside for just under six minutes. Gerard times it. He exits the store with his skinny arms full of red and white uniform. Gerard's lips curl into a grin. Mikey doesn't smile back, just raises an eyebrow at him.

"I still don't think it'll work." He prophesies pessimistically. Gerard just rolls his eyes and relieves him of part of his uniform burden, shoving it under one arm as they head back to the car.

"Dude, that took like, six minutes. Brian's getting slow." Gerard pulls out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Mikey before lighting his own. He's pretty generous with the smokes lately, now that his days of rationing are over.

"I spent most of the time waiting." Mikey explains, "I'm pretty sure - Brian?" He glances at Gerard for confirmation he got the name right and gets a nod, "Yeah well, he would've only talked to me for like, a minute. Maybe less. He's fast."

Gerard doesn't even bother agreeing. He knows. They climb into the car, winding down the windows automatically, since they're not technically supposed to smoke inside. Mikey's blowing a stream of smoke out the window as he continues his spiel, "You know your boyfriend nearly gave me away."

Gerard's heart skips on the word 'boyfriend', but he keeps his expression blank. Or at least he hopes he does. Mikey just rolls his eyes, not buying it for a second, "Frank nearly burst out laughing when Brian asked if I had a license." Gerard should probably respond to this but he can't. He's too busy _not_ thinking about Frank.

"Frank's not my boyfriend," is all he manages, trying for a light tone and not really achieving it. At least his voice doesn't break. Mikey just does another eye-roll and Gerard's thinking if he keeps doing that his eyes are gonna roll back in his head for good. That would look creepy. And kind of cool.

Mikey doesn't even bother to keep the sarcasm out of his voice when he responds, "Yeah, sure, Gee. Whatever."

***

Mikey's first shift is a Friday night so everyone is working, including Gerard. They drive to the store together but enter separately, Gerard delaying his entrance by five minutes and wondering how long they're going to be able to keep up the whole act of not being related. But Ray was insistent they do it this way and he's worked here the longest, so he knows Brian the best. Gerard certainly doesn't want to be blamed for fucking up Ray's master plan.

When Gerard finally enters the store Ray already has Mikey at one of the registers, talking him through how to take orders. Ray makes a show of introducing Gerard to the "new kid" and Gerard pointedly does _not_ look at Frank who is grinning fit to burst like the whole thing is funnier than the time they put pizza sauce in Otter's cap.

He barely manages to hold it together until he's out back, out of Brian's line of sight, before he starts snickering into his sleeve at Ray's overly sincere demeanor. Frank is beside him before he can even suck in a breath and they simultaneously crack up until the sheer volume of their laughter becomes an issue.

"Dude." Frank chokes out, hand fluttering up to palm away tears of mirth.

"God, I know right?" Gerard stutters out, feeling flushed from laughing and _just_ from laughing he tells himself, it's nothing to do with how cute Frank looks with his eyes all crinkled up and the giant giggly smile he's beaming at Gerard.

"Shh, shh." Frank shushes them both messily, still choking on his glee, "Brian's gonna hear."

Gerard draws in a long slow breath, trying to zen out and get under control. Frank wipes a hand across his face before springing into action, grabbing two cases of float out of the safe and handing one to Gerard. They count up, checking their money is correct in relative silence until Frank breaks it with a "Hey, check this out."

He pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his back pocket and shows it to Gerard, holding it almost reverently. It's a black and white drawing of a jack-o-lantern grinning wickedly and Gerard recognizes the eyes and mouth immediately.

"Holy shit! Is that…?" Gerard stutters,

"Yep." Frank nods excitedly. "I showed your sketch to my tattoo guy, I had to have that face, man. Is that okay?"

"Shit yeah." Gerard feels breathless, heart pounding a little too hard at the idea of something he drew being imprinted on Frank's skin. Forever.

The sketch is more stylized than Gerard's ratty drawing, but his contribution is clear in the sharp lines of the eyes and the jagged mouth. It's easily one of the coolest things Gerard's ever seen.

"Dude that's awesome!" Gerard gushes. "On your back right? Where?"

Frank turns around, awkwardly holding the sketch vaguely in the middle of his upper back with a twisted arm. Gerard takes the paper from him, pressing it flat against Frank's back, trying to imagine what it will look like inked into his skin.

"It's gonna look fucking wicked." Gerard states with surety. Warmth is leaking through Frank's shirt making Gerard's hands feel hot, and somewhere in the back of his mind he's yelling _Really? I can't even touch his fucking back?_ He hands the slip of paper back to Frank. "It's gonna hurt like a bitch."

"Worth it, though." Frank answers with a wide grin, pocketing the design. Gerard's not so sure, but then he and needles have never been on good terms. "A week on Sunday, this baby is gonna be mine forever." Frank decrees with satisfaction and his smile is completely contagious.

"Hey Tweedledee and Tweedledum - I got a full rack of deliveries over here!" Brian's using his angry voice, but they're both so used to hearing it that it doesn't hold a lot of kick. Frank nudges Gerard's arm as he bounces off to grab a hotbag. It's only when he's at least four feet away that Gerard releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He gives himself a shake, glancing up to find Mikey looking at him with one eyebrow raised mouthing the word "boyfriend". Well fuck. Fuck Mikey and his fucking all-knowing self. Gerard flips him the bird before going to fetch his own delivery. It's gonna be a long night.

***

"You owe me money, Iero." Ray points at Frank with his beer. As tradition would dictate, they are all amassed at Ray's after knocking off work for the night. One thing Gerard notices that is not tradition-dictated is the way Ray's hand is resting casually on Mikey's leg where they're smushed next to each other on the couch. Not that he's going to mention it.

"No way, Toro. We said a _week_. He's gotta last 'til next Friday at least."

Mikey's shaking his head but Ray is confident. Mikey lasted out his shift, staying on even after Brian noticed he wasn't taking any deliveries. Gerard wasn't there when the shit hit the fan but somehow Mikey came out of it not-fired. Probably some combination of his little-brother charm and his skill at phone calls. Gerard's dreading the day when Mikey gets his own phone. Chances are he'll have to call him from the same room standing right in front of him to get his attention.

"So what happened, then? How come Mikey’s not fired?" Gerard still wants to know.

"He got the Mystery Shopper." Frank chimes in, leaning forward on his knees like this is all a big conspiracy.

"The fucking _what?_ " Gerard has to ask. "Mystery Shopper? What’s that?" This is the first Gerard’s ever heard of such a thing.

"It’s like an incentive-" Ray starts, but Frank jumps in, "Or a punishment."

Ray rolls his eyes at him. "You wanna tell it? Be my guest."

"Nah, you tell it. You’re the expert. I didn’t even think it was for real. I thought Brian just made that shit up to keep us on our toes. Didn’t work, but." Frank sums up, digging out a cigarette and lighting it. Ray turns back to Gerard to fill him in.

"It’s a head office thing. They call up pretending to be a customer and place an order and score you on how well you do, if you ask the right questions, say the right things, up-sell, you know?" Gerard nods. Fuck he hates bureaucracy. "Mikey got one hundred percent." Ray leans back, smiling like he’s a new father or something. "They said he's got an excellent phone manner."

"He gives good phone." Frank smirks. Mikey just narrows his eyes at him and flips him off.

"Dude you just finished running through all that stuff with me ten times right before the guy rang. Of course I was gonna get it all." Mikey rolls his eyes like he doesn’t know what the big deal is.

"Still, two hundred bucks." Frank says thoughtfully.

"Two hundred bucks?" repeats Gerard. "What?"

"Perfect score bonus." Ray adds, bumping his shoulder against Mikey’s grinning proudly.

"Fuck, really?" Gerard’s kind of impressed.

"Yeah, head office are sending a check ." Mikey’s actually smiling now.

"Dude, that’s a _lot_." Gerard states the obvious. "What are you gonna do with it?"

"I dunno." Mikey starts picking at the seam of his jeans, staring at his knee as he says, "I was thinking of buying a bass guitar." He glances up from the denim to look at Ray, who’s got the biggest grin Gerard’s ever seen on him crawling across his face.

"Awesome." Ray mutters, sliding his hand under Mikey’s so their fingers entwine and Mikey just gives him that tiny secret smile of his.

Gerard has to look away. It’s not that he’s not happy for them, he’s fucking ecstatic. It’s just that sometimes he wishes he had one tiny slice of Mikey’s freakishly good luck.

***

Gerard goes maybe a little bit overboard on Halloween. Maybe. Possibly.

Definitely.

It's not like he can help it. It's his favorite holiday _and_ Frank's birthday; it deserves a fuss.

Fuss comes in the form of Gerard showing up to work forty-five minutes early, armed with some dime store face paint and a bottle of homemade fake blood (a maple syrup based recipe, which he knows by heart).

He doesn't bother checking with Brian first, he just starts turning the entire Pepi's staff one by one into blood-caked, grey-faced zombies. By the time Brian finds him out the back in the storeroom transforming Ray into one of the walking dead he just sniffs and tells him not to get "any of that shit" on anyone's uniform.

By the time 6pm rolls around, Gerard's transformed the whole Pepi's team into a zombie army. He's happily admiring his work, watching the grey-faced blood-oozing staff members going about their business of feeding the living with a smile on his face that feels tight from the face paint. Brian even let him paint a gaping bloody wound on his forehead, even though he felt the urge to remind Gerard that they were all "too old for this shit."

Gerard hijacks the flour-battered stereo so it's playing The Misfits' _Halloween_ right when Frank walks in the door, completely clueless and moving a little stiffly.

Frank gets two steps into the store before the sight registers.

"Holy fucking shit!" He stares open-mouthed at Gerard's handiwork - a bloody staff of the walking dead making fucking _pizza_ \- and Gerard feels his heart skip at least three times when he sees the enormous smile hogging Frank's face. He looks ready to bounce right out of his skin with excitement. Frank pushes through the Sunday crew, catching birthday and Halloween greetings along the way.

"You." He stops two steps from Gerard and points at him, grinning fit to burst. "You fucking did this!"

"Happy fucking birthday." Gerard's trying to fight it, but he's beaming, smiling like an absolute tool. Frank grunts out another breathless "Motherfucker!" as he launches himself at Gerard in a violent hug. In that moment it's all worth it. Coming in early, talking the guys around, having red shit stuck under his fingers for weeks to come, all fine. Frank's arms are enveloping him, their chests crushing together and Gerard's heart is beating so hard he's hoping Frank can't feel it. Gerard probably holds on a little too tightly and for a little too long, but he really can't help it. He has to savor this. It's as close as he's ever gonna get.

He chews down that thought and reluctantly lets go, his fingers brushing Frank's back as they disentangle and Frank winces, sucking in his breath in a hiss.

"Hey, are you okay?" Gerard's suddenly concerned. He noticed Frank was moving stiffly.

"Yeah. Yeah." Frank waves his hand dismissively. There's a smile tugging at his lip as he explains, "I got inked today."

"No fucking way! Already?"

"Of course asshole, I've only been waiting my whole fucking life for this."

"Dude, come on! Show." Gerard can't contain his impatience and Frank doesn't need to be told twice, he spins around and yanks up the back of his uniform shirt. Gerard has to peel back a layer of gauze and tape and then there's his jack o' lantern grinning up at him from the middle of Frank's back. The dark lines are still raw and angry but it's fucking _there_ , cheerful and creepy and inked on Frank's skin for a lifetime.

"It's awesome. Fucking perfect!"

A huddle forms around Frank as the other drivers crowd in to have a look. Frank suffers the attention happily, buzzing like he's on a sugar rush. He doesn't seem to care when Gerard's fingertips remain resting on his back for probably far longer than necessary. Gerard yells at himself internally for the slip, catching a snide look from Mikey that says he noticed it, even if Frank didn't. Reluctantly, he sticks the medical tape back down, obscuring the grinning pumpkin head.

Frank's fielding questions such as "How long did it take?" and "How much did it fucking _hurt_?" like a celebrity when Brian finally breaks up the party, reminding everyone they're supposed to be, you know, working? There's grumbling, but the guys disperse back to their stations. Even still, Brian stops Frank long enough to say it's quality work and he went to a good artist. That just makes Frank grin harder and it’s looking unlikely that anything could dislodge his giant smile for the rest of the night. Gerard has to paint around it when he zombifies him in the storeroom, amazed when Brian doesn't even give them shit for spending fifteen on-the-clock minutes creating zombie art on Frank's face.

Gerard has to concentrate really hard on doing the makeup to distract himself from the fact that Frank’s face is mere inches from his own, his cigarette tinged breath feathering over Gerard’s face as he strokes greasepaint over his skin. Frank’s having a hard time keeping still, he’s vibrating with energy and excitement, asking "Can I see it yet?" every fifteen seconds.

Gerard uses proper makeup putty to create a gaping bloody gash that runs down Frank’s forehead from above his eye and continues below his eye socket to just above his lip. He also creates a giant globby blood pustule at the corner of Frank’s mouth, right over the spot where his lip ring would usually sit. With the grey pallid base, the dark makeup around his eyes, and the blood dribbles down his chin, he looks dead on his feet and thoroughly gross. It’s totally perfect.

Frank’s face is definitely the best, goriest zombie Gerard creates that night. With the other staff he kind of made it up as he went along but he actually planned what he was going to do for Frank. He might have even made some sketches, which he hid away in the cavity under his bottom drawer because if Mikey found them he’d never hear the end of it.

He hands Frank the tiny hand mirror he stole from his mom’s makeup kit. He didn’t think Frank’s smile could get any bigger but when he makes eye contact with his undead self in the glass it absolutely does. Gerard starts to worry about the putty on his lip un-sticking it’s stretched so tight.

"Fuck!" He exclaims, tossing his head from side to side to see from every angle. "It’s like – " he makes a slashing motion with his arm like he’s slicing the wound open with a knife, bubbling out a bloody noise as he does. Gerard just smiles, and possibly blushes a little under his makeup. "This is awesome. So fucking awesome." Frank decrees, grabbing Gerard around the shoulder and squeezing. "Fucking best birthday ever and it’s not even over yet. We are going to scare the shit out of the customers."

"You know it." Gerard chimes in, heart pattering stupidly under his red and white shirt. Frank’s barely even touching him. God, he’s such a _loser_. "Come on, we better get out there before Brian ruptures something."

"He can’t fire me on my birthday." Frank argues, but he heads back into the store anyway, bouncing like he’s got springs on the bottom of his Chucks.

When Otter cops an eyeful of Frank’s fantastic gory dead face he points at it and cries "Fuck, that rules! Why didn’t you do mine like that?"

Gerard shrugs. Luckily he’s saved from having to answer as Frank shoves a hotbag and a float in his hands. He takes them with a nod, booking them out and ghosting after Frank to the parking lot.

He gets a lot of weird looks from customers that night. But he gets an equal number of compliments. He even manages to pull off a few zombie growls at inappropriate moments without feeling too much like an ass. Though he’s pretty sure he might have given a third-grader nightmares, which he feels a little bad about.

By the time the shift is over, his face is starting to itch from the makeup and his feet are screaming at him. He dumps his last empty hotbag and cashes out, feeling sweaty and covered in pizza-grease. He’s just gotten his money from Brian when he bumps into Mikey and Ray coming out of the storeroom.

"Where’s Frank?" He asks Ray. They were due to finish at the same time tonight.

"Parking lot, I think he’s waiting for you." Ray’s voice sounds weird and it takes a few moments for Gerard to register that they’re both missing a lot of the makeup from around their mouths. Plus some of the blood from Mikey’s cheek-slash has rubbed off on Ray’s jaw. Well, that’s _way_ more information than he needed. He gives them a half-hearted wave, purposefully _not_ looking at Mikey, before heading out back to the lot.

He finds Frank sitting halfway out of his car, perched on the backseat with his Chucks tapping on loose gravel, Misfits blaring from the stereo. Gerard smells the sweet smoke of bud before he sees the hot cherry flare of the joint Frank’s smoking.

"Heeeey!" Frank grins up at him, waving the joint in greeting. Gerard’s mouth pulls into an echoing grin involuntarily. Frank’s looking whacked out already. His eyes are shot and he seems to be fighting a permanent dopey grin. That, combined with his still-intact zombie make-up, is quite a sight.

"Check it out." Frank huffs, shoving a hand in his back pocket and wiggling around on the seat until he frees his prize, thrusting it forwards into Gerard’s face. It’s a sizable bag of weed. "Fucking score right? Birthday present from Hambone. I fucking love that guy."

Gerard’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes but Frank doesn’t notice. He’s crawling further into the car until he’s awkwardly sprawled in the middle of the backseat, then he thumps empty space he was sitting in for Gerard to join him. Gerard climbs into the car, taking the joint Frank shoves at him and trying not to think about all the shit they’ll be in if Brian decides to take a stroll through the parking lot. Because smoking up while still in uniform is pretty much the opposite of smart.

"Is he coming tonight?" He asks Frank, quickly putting the spliff to his lips and breathing in, ashamed of how unsure his voice sounds. He’s never actually met Hambone but Frank talks about him a lot. He’s pretty sure they’re best friends and he knows it’s incredibly stupid of him to be jealous of that, he hasn’t even known Frank that long, but fuck if he can help it.

"Nah. Working." Frank doesn’t sound sad about it and Gerard does _not_ fist pump victoriously. Instead, he just holds very still while Frank flops back on the car seat, using Gerard’s leg as a pillow and shuffling around until his feet are up on the window. Gerard should be used to this by now, Frank’s complete lack of awareness of people’s personal space, but he absolutely isn’t. Luckily, Frank doesn’t seem to notice that Gerard’s doing his best impersonation of a living statue so as not to do anything untoward. He reaches up and flaps his hand until Gerard hands the joint back.

Frank takes a long drag and Gerard feels the urge to fill the silence, despite Danzig doing a pretty good job of it. Frank’s tapping his feet on the window in time to Braineaters. "So, Ray’s tonight?"

"Fuck yeah," Frank replies, the words carrying sweet smoke up to Gerard’s nose. "Everyone’s coming. It’s gonna be out of control."

"Awesome. No more fruitylicious, though," Gerard warns, nose wrinkling at the memory, as Frank shoves the joint back in his hand.

"Nah. No way." Frank scrambles around until he’s kneeling up on the seat next to Gerard, eyes wild and excited. "Fuck. We need _supplies_ "

***

Gerard would be willing to bet a reasonable amount of money that the night staff at the Pathmark Supermarket had no idea the shit that was about to go down on their Halloween shift. Around 10:13pm they get invaded by five really stoned, giggly guys in red and white matching uniforms. Who also happened to be painted up like zombies.

Frank, who is very, very buzzed by this stage, bursts through the automatic doors yelling "Konichiwa bitches!" drawing a very resigned glare from the kid behind the counter. It doesn’t even register on Frank, who is completely glare-proof by this stage; he just snatches up one of those plastic grocery baskets and skips down the aisle like Little Red Riding Hood on speed.

Ray announces "Beer!" with a sweeping arm gesture and trots off in the opposite direction, Mikey and Otter trailing in his wake. Which makes sense because beer is definitely heavy and requires many strong arms to carry. Gerard goes after Frank, happily stoned enough that he doesn’t even try to come up with a justifying reason for doing so, he just wants to.

He finds Frank in the bakery section, pointing gleefully at a cardboard sign sprouting from a collection of plastic housed cakes.

"It’s the Cake of the Week!" He exclaims heartily, gesturing towards the pile of iced pound cakes like Vanna White. A short, male, zombie Vanna White.

Frank is indeed right. The sign says "Cake of the Week, $2.50, or 2 for $4" and at that very moment it’s the most hilarious thing Gerard’s seen for at least five minutes.

"It’s the Cake of the Week, man! The Cake of the motherfucking Week!" Frank repeats maniacally, bouncing on his heels like a lunatic and Gerard starts to lose it. He has to grip the edge of the cake stand to keep himself upright he’s giggling himself off-balance. Frank looks completely ridiculous with his zombie makeup, bloodshot eyes and giant sloppy grin. Laughter is bubbling from Gerard’s mouth as he reaches blindly for one of the plastic containers of cake and dumps it into Frank’s basket, nearly crushing a bag of Cheetos.

"Only one?" Frank whines like a three year old, "But they’re on _sale_! And it’s the Cake of the Weeeeeek!" Frank flaps his hands like he’s trying to take off and Gerard struggles to breathe around his incapacitating laughter. He snatches up three more cakes and throws them in the basket unceremoniously.

"Happy?" He challenges, using his best cranky mom voice.

"Yes!" Frank cries, complete with fist-pump before grabbing Gerard around the neck and spinning him around the bakery section in some kind of deranged waltz. Gerard doesn’t stop laughing the entire time, not even when the cranky kid from the counter appears in the aisle and tries to glare them out again to no end. Because Gerard’s glare-proof now, too.

***

The party does get reasonably out of control. Reasonably, because nothing actually gets destroyed or broken (at least, nothing that Ray and Matt would care about) although it isn't long before every flat surface is covered in empty cups and beer bottles.

Frank is set on going on a complete bender and luckily, there is an incredible surplus of alcohol, so much so that Ray will probably have three or four six-packs worth left in his fridge when it's all over - an offering to the party host.

Gerard's matching Frank drink for drink and the guy can hold his fucking alcohol. He can feel the froth from the beer in the back of his throat, like he's so full of drink if you shook him up he'd bubble over. He's not at the dizzy-needs-to-pass-out stage as yet, but it's not far away. He hasn't seen Ray or Mikey in hours and he's pretty sure he doesn't want to know why.

Matt's out on the back lawn with a bunch of the lunch shift drivers, concocting various strange mechanisms to replace the humble bong. The last one Gerard saw involved a bucket with a hole in it and they appear to have moved on to something involving a plastic bag, or rather, a bag that once contained bread and now contains freshly sucked pot smoke. Gerard watches, swaying in the back doorway as Matt breathes in the smoke collected in the bag, breaking into a coughing fit immediately until his eyes are leaking.

"Crumbs." He grunts out between coughs, "I'm breathing in crumbs." Another fit of coughing doesn't stop Joe taking the bag from Matt and finishing the hit, muttering something about wasting good weed.

Gerard abandons his observation of the great re-invention of the bong, weaving into the kitchen to collect two more beers. When he totters back into the living room, it's empty of all life except Frank, and Frank barely qualifies as life the way he's passed out on the couch. He's sweated off most of his zombie makeup, but the dark shadow around his eyes has hung on, along with some of the fake blood on his mouth and forehead. At some point in the night, he got sick of yanking his shirt up to show off his tattoo so he just got rid of it altogether and spent the rest of the night bare-chested. This wasn't good for Gerard's peace of mind, and the drunker he got the harder it was not to keep letting his gaze stray downwards at all that now-eighteen-year-old skin.

There are beer bottles strewn on the floor beside Frank, plus empty plastic containers that once contained the famed Cakes of the Week. Frank ate two of them completely on his own. When Gerard settles on the couch next to him, lifting Frank’s legs to slide underneath them, he can see that Frank's still got frosting and crumbs all over his face. He giggles at the sight, reaching out an unsteady hand to wipe the frosting away.

It's not as easy as he thought. The frosting has hardened, stuck solidly to Frank's skin. Gerard's brow furrows thoughtfully and he pulls his hand back, sticking a finger in his beer-flavored mouth before trying again with a now-damp finger. It helps a little, his spit softening the hard icing, and some of it budges. When Gerard's finger finds its way back into his mouth he tastes sugar, chocolate and the salt of Frank's skin. It should be gross, but it's not. It's kind of intoxicating, so he does it again, fingers not as careful as they should be because all the alcohol has robbed him of his finer motor skills.

Frank doesn't stir, though. He's under pretty solidly, and the knowledge makes Gerard bold. He leans down, body uncurling beside Frank's until his face hovers above his. He's drunk enough that taking his hand out of the equation seems a good idea, leaning down slowly to lick at the stubborn frosting.

It's a really, really bad idea but also the best idea Gerard's ever had. Because holy shit, he's licking Frank's face and he tastes like salt and sugar and he's warm and relaxed and not even moving. Soon Gerard's beer-addled brain loses even the faint thread of its frosting clean-up purpose and Gerard’s face slips that half inch closer to Frank's, lining up their lips in completely one-sided kiss.

Frank stays under, completely still, and even as drunk as Gerard is there's a noise in his head, a little high-pitched shriek of indignation at how absolutely wrong and creepy this is. The noise isn't loud enough to carry over the surge of blood-rush in Gerard's ears as he tastes Frank's lips, feels them soft and loose beneath his. He can't help it, he sucks in a breath through his nose, his whole body heating up as his lips move gently over Frank's. Somewhere deep in Gerard's mind, Frank isn’t unconscious, he’s moving, he's kissing back just like Gerard always fantasized, fisting his hands in Gerard's hair and shoving his tongue in.

The fantasy is so intense Gerard doesn't realize at first when Frank starts to move for real. A little noise bubbles out of the his mouth, forcing his lips open beneath Gerard's and before Gerard even realizes, he’s latched onto that lower lip, sucking it between his own. The indignant voice is screaming at him now, starting to pierce through Gerard’s alcohol-haze. He should stop now. Frank’s stirring and he should totally stop.

Except he doesn’t. Because it’s happening just the way he wants it to, Frank’s lips are softening and moving against his, his hand fluttering up to grasp Gerard’s shoulders. He’s kissing back, fucking kissing back, and Gerard’s going to lose his mind. So instead of backing off, Gerard’s pushing on, deepening the kiss, pressing his tongue hesitantly into Frank’s mouth. He lets his body slide down onto Frank’s, loving the warm hard press, how hot Frank’s skin feels through the one thin layer of t-shirt material that separates them.

It’s hot. So hot. It’s _amazing_. Right up until the point when Frank freezes up completely, his eyes fly open and he shrieks, shoving Gerard off him in a violent rush. Gerard barely has time to process the motion of Frank’s arm coming toward him before he’s blinded by pain in his right eye. He falls off the couch and landing hard on his side, one hand flying up to cover his throbbing eye and wincing.

"Frank! Frank I’m-" Gerard finally manages to focus, scrambling to his feet, searching for Frank, apology already pouring out but it’s too late. Frank’s gone.

He hears the familiar rumble of Frank’s sedan coming to life, the blare of the Misfits as Frank drives off. He falls back down onto the floor, palm still covering his throbbing face, as the enormity of what just happened drives home.

"Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck!" He slams a fist into the couch. It bounces off violently and nearly hits him in his uninjured eye. Well, great. He really can’t do _anything_ right. Ever.

He’s sitting on the grubby carpet, rocking back and forth and cursing his general existence, when Mikey’s worn Chucks invade his view of the floor.

"Did Frank just leave?" Mikey’s voice sounds way too normal after everything that just went down. Gerard just nods miserably, hand still firmly pressed over his eye as he looks up to find his brother’s face. Mikey takes in Gerard’s condition in an instant. "Jesus Christ, what happened?" He kneels down, peeling Gerard’s hand away and wincing when he sees his swollen eye.

"We had a fight," is all Gerard can manage. Even just saying the words makes him want to break down and cry like a little girl.

Ray’s hovering behind Mikey; they’ve both cleaned off their zombie makeup so there’s nothing masking their concern. "Please tell me Frank didn’t drive."

"Fuck! He did. I mean, I think he did." Gerard’s hands clench on the carpet. Fuck. Frank’s going to die. He’s driving drunk and he’s going to die on his eighteenth birthday and it’s going to be all Gerard’s fault.

Mikey’s pressing cool gentle fingers to Gerard’s brow and cheekbone. "Ray, you got anything for this?" He asks. Ray nods and heads for the kitchen.

"What happened, Gee?" Mikey asks, so carefully Gerard’s nearly going to break. He shakes his head mutely, fighting a tremble in his lip. He can’t talk about this. Not now. He’ll fall apart.

Luckily Ray comes back with a bag of frozen peas, stalling the conversation.

"Ray, can you drive? Like, are you okay, you sober?" Gerard asks, stumbling over the words as Mikey presses the icy cold bag to his aching eye.

"Probably." Ray admits. "I’ve only had a few." He’s scratching his chin, looking down at Gerard thoughtfully, eyes pinched with worry.

"We have to go after him." Gerard’s voice is desperate.

Mikey and Ray exchange a look. Ray nods slowly. "Okay."

***

When they pull up outside Frank’s house Gerard feels a rush of relief at the sight of Frank’s car in the driveway looking fairly intact. When Ray stops the engine and gives him a questioning look, he just shakes his head and slides low in the seat. He doesn’t want Frank to know he’s here. He just wants to know Frank is okay. Or at least alive.

Ray sighs, suddenly looking ten years older, pushing open his door and climbing out. As soon as the driver’s seat is free, Mikey climbs over from the backseat and corners Gerard against the passenger door.

"What really happened?" He asks, gentle but firm.

Gerard still doesn’t want to talk about it. He curls down into himself further, shaking his head. Mikey just stares at him, one eyebrow barely arched until his magic powers force Gerard to speak.

"I kissed Frank." Mikey’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. "And he punched me in the face." Gerard can’t even say it without wanting to melt into the upholstery and disappear.

Mikey doesn’t speak for a long time. Finally, he sighs. "Asshole."

"No." Gerard’s shaking his head, dangerously close to tears. "It wasn’t like that."

"How was it like, then?" Mikey asks, lip curling slightly, full of brotherly spite. "You’re going to have a black eye, you know."

Gerard just nods miserably, letting his head fall back and hit the cold glass. Idiot. He’s such an idiot. Mikey squeezes his knee comfortingly until Ray returns. The cool air of outside creeps in when Ray opens the driver door.

"He’s not answering. But his car looks fine. I’m pretty sure I saw him inside, too."

Gerard’s caught between relief and a deeper worry. Frank’s alive, that’s good, but he’s not even answering the door for _Ray_. That’s bad. Really bad.

"Thanks, Ray." Gerard’s voice sounds rusty. Ray doesn’t say anything else, just nods and climbs back into the car. The silence lasts all the way home.

When they pull up outside the Way house, Gerard doesn’t bother to wait for Mikey to say goodbye to Ray. He goes straight inside and crawls into bed, presses his face into the pillow and tries really hard to forget.

***

Gerard's staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The morning has brought him a shattering hangover to complement his heartache. His eye is puffy, bruised a dark purple-blue like an overripe plum. He presses his fingers tentatively to the blood puffed skin. Mikey was right. It's a right shiner he's sporting and combined with his drawn eyebag-ridden visage he looks like shit.

What does it matter anyway? No one's looking at him. They won't be, either. He's blowing off class today and crawling back into bed. He gives up on the idea of showering and does just that.

He gets away with his sulking right up until Mikey gets home from school. He's got the sheets pulled up over his head, staring at the patterns the slanting sunlight makes through the Star Wars print when footsteps on the stairs herald Mikey's arrival. Mikey doesn't say anything, just thwumps down on the bed next to him and pulls the sheet down.

"You were here all day, weren't you?" It's more a statement than a question.

"Yep." Gerard breathes, trying to look apathetic and not really pulling it off.

"Are you going to talk to him?" Mikey asks after a long pause.

"Nope." Gerard stares pointedly at the ceiling. Mikey just sighs heavily, pushing a hand through his hair and then flattening it down again.

"Are you going to go to work tonight?"

"Nope." Gerard rolls onto his side, away from Mikey, hoping the conversation will spontaneously end.

"Brian'll be pissed."

"Don't care." Gerard pulls the sheet back over his head. Mikey finally gets the hint and Gerard feels the mattress shifting as he stands up.

"You're an idiot." Mikey states, more to the room than to Gerard. Gerard doesn't answer, just lies still, willing him to leave. When he finally does, door closing softly behind him, Gerard's sort of wishing he hadn't.

***

It takes three days of hard-core sulking, eight angry phone calls from Brian, two long silence-filled talks with Mikey, and five concerned looks from their mother, before Gerard finally leaves the house. He goes to classes and only half-listens. He carries his heavy old phone with him everywhere, checking it forlornly for messages even though it doesn't beep once.

He gets really good at avoiding answering questions about his black eye. It's not like he hasn't had black eyes before, he used to get beat up at high school constantly, but that was high school. He's supposed to be past that now. Even still, he toys with the idea of covering the dark puffy advertisement of his stupidity with makeup before his shift at Pepi's tonight. Except he's pretty sure it wouldn't work.

He lets Mikey think he talked him into actually attending this shift, that it had something to do with Brian's threats under pain of death, but he actually only shows up because he knows Frank's not working tonight.

So when he pulls into the parking lot and sees Frank's car parked next to Ray's his heart simply stops. He parks in the darkest corner of the lot and waits like a coward for Frank to take a delivery before he dares go inside. He's ten minutes late clocking in and Brian glares at him but doesn't call him on it, eyes lingering too long on Gerard's black eye until Gerard pulls his cap lower, trying pointlessly to hide it.

Mikey's juggling phone calls like a master, he's been on for an hour already and Gerard remembers belatedly that there's a game on tonight. No wonder Brian was so insistent he work, and, of course, that explains why Frank's taken an extra shift. Brian needs every driver he can get on tonight.

Maybe it will be busy enough he can avoid Frank all night. He sure hopes so.

It actually works for the first hour or so. He keeps himself busy out on the road, snatching up deliveries and keeping his time in store to an absolute minimum. It works right up until Mikey takes a call from Frank.

"Frank's broken down on Overlook Ave. Triple A's backed up, he won't be back for hours."

Brian swears explosively. The delivery rack is almost full.

"Gerard, take that Beech Street delivery and then go and pick him up. He can use my car tonight. We're too short of drivers already."

"But-" Gerard starts to argue, but there's no way to do it without pouring out the whole pathetic tale and he'd rather die first. Plus, he's the only driver in the store. Mikey's looking at him, worry twitching between his eyebrows even as he snatches up the receiver to take another order.

There's no recourse. Gerard picks up the Beech Street order and books it out, chanting at himself that it'll be fine. This is good really, he can't keep avoiding Frank, he should apologize, he should grow up and stop being such a baby. That doesn't mean he believes any of it. He walks to his car very, very slowly.

The delivery doesn't take anywhere near as long as he'd like. He's turning down Overlook before he's ready, before he's even figured out what to say. Frank's car is parked under a streetlight, driver door open, Frank's legs sticking out balanced on the window. The sight makes Gerard's mouth twitch up even as his heart wrings. He pulls up and parks carefully behind Frank's car.

Frank doesn't hear him coming. Black Flag is blaring out of the car as loud as Frank's old stereo can manage. Little coils of grey smoke are leaking up from the doorway, dancing patterns in the orange glow of the streetlight. Gerard's feet crunch softly on the gravel as he steps up to stand by the driver's door.

He doesn't speak, just waits for Frank to see him. The interior light is off so all Gerard can make out is the soft red glow of Frank's cigarette cherry as he smokes. He knows the second Frank notices him, his whole body seizes and he sits up, coughing a little.

"I thought they were sending Ray." Is all he says, squirming uncomfortably.

"Ray's on a delivery." Gerard says, wishing he could think of something better. Oh fuck it, he can do this, right? "Listen, Frank..." He tries to call forth any snatches of the apology he composed in his head as he drove over but it's gone. His hand flutters up to shove through his hair but his hat's in the way, so he pulls it off distractedly, yanking on his hair.

He doesn't even realize what he's done until Frank gasps, staring at his black eye.

Shit, of course. With the hat off, the direct glare of the streetlight must be displaying his black eye in perfect relief.

"Did I do that?" Frank asks, looking pained but also kind of impressed with himself. One of his hands twitches up like he wants to touch it, but he doesn't.

Gerard just nods with resignation. Frank keeps staring like he can't process, biting and sucking on his lip the way he does when he's not wearing his lip ring and he's missing it.

"Sorry?" Frank squeaks, sounding unsure.

"No look, I'm sorry." He breaths deep, forcing out the words, wishing so hard that he could just disappear. "I'm sorry, Frank, I was drunk and it was really stupid and unfair and I'm sorry, okay? I'm really sorry."

Gerard holds his breath, waiting for the bawling out he so thoroughly deserves. It doesn’t come. Frank just climbs to his feet, studying Gerard’s face, looking shorter and younger than ever in his uniform under the street light.

"So you're sorry and I'm sorry." Frank sums up succinctly, his left foot grinding into the gravel.

"Yeah, I guess." Gerard says breathlessly. He chews on his lip, thinking about how close Frank is standing, thinking about how soft Frank's lips look, how soft he knows they _are_. But that's how he got into this whole mess in the first place. No more of those thoughts. They're not allowed.

"So we're okay, then?" Frank's asking, looking pained, eyes dancing over Gerard's face.

"I think so. Yeah." Gerard tries a smile but it doesn't quite work.

Frank hesitates, swaying a little on his feet and Gerard's really got to shout at himself internally because those illegal thoughts are really fucking hard to ignore right now. He's sure Frank doesn't realize how kissable he is, how much Gerard's ready to make another huge mistake. The silence draws out too long, way too long – particularly for Frank. Gerard's the one who breaks it in the end.

"We better get back. Brian's gonna have a coronary." Frank brows twitch a tiny bit, almost like he's disappointed but Gerard knows that can't be it. He's reading into things again. He's skilled at that.

"All right. I’ll get my stuff." Frank says, turning heel and crawling back into the car, emerging with an armful of empty hotbags and his cap. "So you’re not gonna look under the hood then?" He asks ironically as he locks the doors tight.

"I wouldn’t know what the fuck happens under there. You want me to break it worse?" Gerard replies self–deprecatingly, relieved to be back on safer topics.

They stroll back to Gerard’s mom’s car, Frank giving Gerard shit for not knowing how a car works, and Gerard giving it right back. It’s not the same as it was, there’s something strange and vaguely uncomfortable between them now, but it’s better than the radio silence of the last three days, so Gerard can cope.

It’s not until they’re back on the road, struggling through traffic that Frank swings the conversation back into dangerous territory.

"So you’re gay, then?" He asks, looking genuinely interested in the answer.

Gerard’s glad it’s dark in the car, he can feel his face heating up already. He turns his gaze carefully back to the road, trying to come up with an answer. He could say he bats for both teams but it wouldn’t really be true. He hasn’t been interested in anyone with tits in a long time. "Yeah well, I _do_ go to art school, you know." He tries to put some humor in his voice, but it comes out too shaky.

Frank just "hmph"s thoughtfully, zoning out looking out the window, fingers tapping absently on the windowsill. "You could’ve told me, you know. I mean, I’m all right with it – I really... I could care less, you know?"

Gerard keeps his eyes carefully trained on the road. He has no idea what to say. It’s okay? I’m sorry? They all seem to be nonsequiturs.

Frank saves him by rambling on. "It’s not like I have a problem with it. I mean I’m friends with Ray, and he’s totally boning your brother."

Gerard’s agonized shriek at that mental image could easily have broken the windshield. "Frank, no! God no, no, NO!" He shakes his head, trying to eject the thought, but it’s stuck fast.

Frank just laughs at him like a maniac, pointing and crying out, "Your face! Your FACE!" looking so stupidly ridiculous Gerard can’t help laughing, too.

By the time they pull into the parking lot Gerard’s wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. He parks and they head back into the store ready to tackle the rest of the night’s deliveries, most of Gerard’s heartache pressed down to a dull pain in his stomach. It’s not fixed, not yet, but Frank’s still smiling at him, still talking to him, so that’s something.

He could pretend the whole thing never even happened, if he didn’t have the black eye to show for it.

***

Gerard's phone breaks its four-day silence at 8am the following morning. He’s still in bed, barely awake. He rolls over, skating his hand blindly across the floor until he finds the old brick among the litter of magazines and comics, pulling it up in front of his face.

 _Souls @ the pipeline saturday 8pm. be there. change your life_

The grin that splits his face is enormous. He rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow, emitting a happy squeal. It makes him feel like a complete moron but he does it again anyway, wiggling on the sheets gleefully.

He's got bounce in his step when he clambers up the stairs to the kitchen in search of coffee. Mikey's at the dining table, face half hidden in his enormous mug as he takes his first hit of caffeine for the day. There's still brew in the pot so Gerard fills up, sliding in beside Mikey, stupid grin still stuck fast to his mouth.

"It's too early in the morning to be that happy." Mikey mutters flatly into his cup. "What's so awesome?"

"Nothing." Gerard shakes his head in a completely unconvincing way.

"Yeah. Uh-huh." Mikey mutters sarcastically. He pulls his silence trick again and Gerard ends up spilling anyway.

"I'm going to a gig tomorrow. With Frank."

"You looking to match your eyes up?" Mikey says it as a joke, but it falls flat. Gerard fingers flutter self-consciously over his still-tender eye.

"Mikey-" He warns, but Mikey just sighs, cutting him off.

"He's _your_ domestic abuser boyfriend."

This is why you never talk to Mikey before he's finished his first coffee of the morning. He can be scathing when he wants to be.

"He's not my boyfriend." It's pretty much becoming Gerard's mantra now. "And it wasn't like that."

"You keep saying that. The guy gave you a black eye because you kissed him. That's fucked up."

"It was totally my fault."

"What, you headbutted his fist?"

"Mikey, god." Gerard flops forward until his forehead is resting on the cold tabletop. "He kind of... wasn't conscious... when I-"

"Woah- hang on." Mikey's paying attention now. "You mean he passed out and woke up with your tongue in his mouth?" Mikey looks scandalized - and what is he, psychic? Gerard nods, mortified, his cheek rubbing against the table.

"How are we even related?" Mikey's cup thumps down on the table hard enough to slosh coffee over the side. He leans down closer to Gerard, brow furrowed deeply. "Are you sure you're not adopted?" Gerard just flips him the bird, pressing his eyes closed and wishing the whole encounter with Frank could just be erased from existence. He certainly doesn't want to keep re-living it.

Mikey takes another gulp of coffee like if he could just finish this cup he'd find the answers to the whole situation at the bottom of his mug. Except Gerard is pretty certain there's no solution for 'my brother is a moron'. He leans back, mug spent, looking like he really doesn't want to say the next part. "You know he's been asking Ray questions?"

"Questions? What questions?"

"I don't know, he won’t tell me."

"Ray won’t tell you? Why are you telling _me_ , if Ray won’t tell you?" Gerard narrows his eyes up at his brother, trying to read what's going on behind those glasses. One tiny guilty twitch gives Mikey away. "Fuck you, he told you. You just don't wanna tell me."

Mikey sighs, looking desperately unsure as he fidgets with his hair. "I don't know, Gee. This Frank thing..." His fingers flutter to Gerard's cheekbone, touching lightly under his injured eye. "Just be careful, okay?"

Gerard knows this is his cue to say something reassuring, but he can't think of one thing that qualifies. So he just pries himself up off the table and finishes his coffee.

***

There's no way Gerard was going to miss the Souls gig. Even if he wanted to, Frank would never let him off the hook. He'd texted him three times about it, the last time letting him know he'd come by to collect him at seven.

Frank is looking distractingly good when he arrives to pick him up, his hair spiked full of product, sporting his lip ring and he's even wearing eyeliner which Gerard immediately wishes he'd thought to do. Frank's outfit isn't much different from usual, skinny jeans and a band shirt, but he's rocking a lot more metal: studded belt, wallet chain, leather wrist cuff. All the elements put together make him look like he should be fronting his own punk band, not just going to see one.

Gerard's done his best with what he's got: black jeans, black shirt, accessories borrowed from Mikey and a leather jacket he picked up from Goodwill months ago but never has much opportunity to wear. He seems to pass the grade though, from the way Frank smiles and nods toward his outfit.

"You ready?" He asks, eyes aglow with excitement.

"Hell yeah." Gerard lets Frank drag him to the car, yelling goodbye at Mikey who's somewhere upstairs preening in preparation for a visit from Ray. He's taking advantage of having the house to himself, and Gerard doesn't need to know any further details than that. Some things it's better to be in the dark about.

"I got four beers I stole from my mom's fridge and I still got some weed left from my birthday. Tonight is going to fucking rock!" Frank states categorically, slamming the door closed and firing the engine. The Bouncing Souls start blaring from the stereo, setting the tone for the whole night to come. Frank sings along with Lamar Vannoy, shouting the "Oi, oi, oi, oi!" out the window and Gerard can't resist joining in, grinning like a maniac and banging out the beat on the windowsill in time with Frank's drumming on the steering wheel.

It's a warm out, they're rolling down familiar streets, shouting out into the darkness like a couple of delinquents. It's pretty close to being a perfect night already. They share one of the beers and a joint in the parking lot before the gig. Frank won’t be able to get any alcohol once they’re inside so he’s come prepared.

Inside the venue it's hot and crowded, and the support act is just starting. Gerard’s regretting his leather jacket already but if he takes it off he’s gonna have to carry it around so he just suffers through it. The support are good, but they’re no match for the Souls - once they take the stage, Frank lasts barely one song watching from the sidelines before he dives into the mosh pit and starts crashing into people. Gerard watches on, grinning at Frank’s apparent indestructibility, right up until they start playing _Here We Go_ and Frank drags him into the crush.

It’s hot, violent, and completely overwhelming. Bodies crash into them from all sides, all surging flesh, pointy elbows, and stamping feet. But through it all the music’s a thread, pulling Gerard through, feeding the whole crowd energy which they push back at the band. By the time the set finishes, Gerard’s exhausted but elated, and Frank’s sweaty, red-faced, and running high. The cool night air is a relief when they exit the venue, collapsing on the steps to share a smoke and gush about the gig. Gerard’s pretty sure he’s earned at least a half dozen new bruises but it’s all worth it.

It’s barely midnight when they’re back on the road and Gerard’s not ready to chance going home, yet. When he shares that with Frank, he just laughs and turns off the highway, weaving through suburban streets until they reach a park tucked in behind an elementary school.

"My uncle lives around the corner, we used to come here all the time as kids." Frank explains, wiggling his body between the front seats to scrabble around on the floor, coming up with three beers and what’s left of his precious bag of birthday weed. He shoves the beers at Gerard and they climb out of the car, Frank leading the way to a small playground and picnic area.

They flop out on a picnic table, stretched out on their backs on the cool wooden table top. Gerard still feels overheated enough he’s almost expects to see steam rising from his chest into the darkness. Frank rolls a joint carefully, brows furrowed in concentration and they share it, swapping lungfuls of smoke with mouthfuls of lukewarm beer. Frank starts singing snatches of Souls tracks and Gerard joins in, until they're giggling their way through half of Maniacal Laughter, only stopping for hits and drinks.

Eventually, they run out of tunes and their voices are shot, so they lie there in the almost-darkness quietly passing the joint until it’s nothing but a roach. Gerard’s zoning out a little, staring up at the sky when he senses Frank’s eyes on him. He rolls his head to the side to find Frank staring at him, eyes blown, expression thoughtful.

"What?" Gerard asks, when Frank doesn’t stop looking and doesn’t speak. He fights the urge to put a hand to his face and see if he’s got something stuck on it.

Frank just chews his lip, eyes roving Gerard’s face, down his body and back up again until Gerard’s feeling seriously self conscious.

"I want to try something." Frank says, very seriously. Gerard nods, even though he has no idea what Frank’s talking about. Frank nods back, short and quick, before rolling onto his side until he’s close enough Gerard can feel his breath, his heat, even though they’re not touching.

"Just hold still. You owe me." Frank instructs, and Gerard’s beyond confused, but he’s buzzed enough to be pliable so he holds still, very still, even though Frank’s face is getting closer and closer to his own. He’s holding his breath as Frank hovers over him, their noses brushing as Frank leans down, closer. Closer.

Gerard doesn’t believe it, doesn’t actually process it until Frank’s lips touch his, feather-light. He’s breathing through his nose, pushing air across Gerard’s cheek and Gerard’s frozen, so afraid to move, barely breathing under the soft touch of Frank’s lips. This isn’t really happening. Frank isn’t really kissing him, voluntarily. He’s not drunk and he’s barely buzzed. How is this happening?

Frank makes a little noise in the back of his throat and his lips press firmer, harder. Gerard’s hands clench into fists, fingernails digging into his palms as he struggles to stay still. Frank’s pushing closer, deeper, his lips moving on Gerard’s, and Gerard’s squeezing his eyes shut, breathing deeply through his nose, fighting so hard not to move, to grab, to pull Frank in tight and never let go.

It’s only getting worse, especially when Frank sticks his leg over Gerard’s body and climbs on top of him, shoving a hand into Gerard’s hair and pulling him in. Frank’s breathing hard through his nose now, kissing like he means it and Gerard’s going out of his mind. He’s got to do something, anything, or this is all going to end so fucking badly. He tosses his head to the side, breaking the kiss. When he can focus his eyes again Frank’s looking down at him, pupils blown and dilated, mouth so wet it’s distracting, and he has to force himself to speak. "Frank… I can’t keep still if you keep doing that."

"Then move, asshole. Why’re you making me do all the work?" Frank’s smirking at him cheekily, and Gerard would argue the point if there weren’t better things for him to be doing.

Instead, he unclenches his hands and slides them into Frank’s hair, pulling him down and kissing him properly. Frank’s back into it straight away and fuck, Gerard was so right about him, so right about the way he kisses. He’s intense, pouring his whole self into it. His tongue presses into Gerard’s mouth immediately, and all Gerard can do is open up and suck on it, groaning into his mouth. Frank’s body shifts and suddenly his weight is coming down on Gerard hard and full, crushing them together and Gerard’s sliding a hand down Frank’s back, locking their bodies tight.

Frank can’t stop moving, he’s all pent-up motion and searching tongue, hands tightening in Gerard’s hair. Gerard arches up into him, and Frank pushes him back down, nearly braining him on the table, but Gerard’s beyond caring. Frank’s hands are sliding, grasping for purchase, running up and down Gerard’s arms, torso, waist, chest. It’s like he can’t touch enough, can’t feel enough, and Gerard can totally relate. But he’s trying to keep himself in check. He doesn’t want to push too far. This is still so new.

There’s only so much he can do, though. He keeps his hands carefully above the waist, over the clothes. It’s not enough and yet it’s still more than he can handle. Especially when one of Frank’s legs slides between his own and suddenly there’s pressure right where he wants it. Right against his dick. He tightens his fingers on Frank’s waist so he doesn’t just grab his ass, pull him down and grind up on him like he wants to. Fuck, but he wants to.

He tears his mouth off Frank’s, but Frank doesn’t stop kissing him. He just slides that hot wet mouth down Gerard’s neck to suck at his throat, and it feels so good Gerard forgot what he broke the kiss to say. He struggles to dig it out of his brain while Frank works on giving him an impressive hickey and he starts to wonder if it’s possible to get so hard that he could actually burst through the front seam of his pants. Because it really feels like he might.

"Frank." He breathes, nearly choking on the words when Frank’s teeth scrape over his pulse point. "Frank, Jesus…" He’s got two handfuls of the back of Frank’s shirt, pulling up halfheartedly. It takes everything he’s got to put enough strength in the motion to separate them.

"What? What?" Frank’s looking down at Gerard, confused and hazy. "What’s wrong?"

"Frank. Fuck." Gerard’s struggling to breathe, to think. All he wants to do is dive right back in, but he keeps his back flat on the table, keeps his fingers knotted in Frank’s shirt, elbows locked. "We gotta slow down. You haven’t done this before."

"Fuck you, I’ve done this before." Frank looks indignant. Or as indignant as he can look with his mouth all kissed up.

"But not with a guy." It kills Gerard to say it. "I just…" He trails off, staring at Frank, into those amber eyes that are all lust-dazed and confused. He’s holding his arms so tense they’re shaking. "I don’t wanna…" so many ways he could finish that sentence. So many ways this could go wrong and he couldn’t stand to lose this friendship, not again. "You’re straight." He finishes on a sigh.

"Does this feel straight to you?" Frank challenges, rocking down against Gerard, rubbing his hard-on against Gerard’s thigh and fuck, _fuck_ it’s too good. Gerard’s head drops back into the table, a strangled noise bubbling from his mouth. His arms lose their strength at that moment and suddenly instead of pushing up he’s hanging on, clinging to Frank’s shirt desperately.

"Can I just try this? Can _we_ just try this? Please?" Frank’s eyes are serious, his voice low, throaty and wrecked. He’s so sincere, so fucking beautiful in the straining light of a distant streetlamp, Gerard’s gonna break. Because he’s saying it like it’s a test, like it’s an experiment, like it’s something they can just do and walk away from if he doesn’t like it. And maybe he can, but there’s no way Gerard can, no way in hell he could live with that.

Frank’s still waiting for an answer. He slides a hand up Gerard’s chest, locking his fingers behind Gerard’s neck, thumb stroking over the tender spot he made earlier with his mouth. Gerard wants to whimper, wants to curl up, to just let go. He’s staring at Frank’s mouth, his mind ablaze with all the reasons why not. Staring at his broken heart when this all goes wrong.

Still, he forces his mouth into a smile, arching an eyebrow like this is a breeze. "All right. Why not?" The smile on Frank’s face is huge right up until the moment Gerard pulls him down and kisses him.

That's when he decides that fuck it, _fuck it_ , he doesn't care what this might mean, what this might do. If he's only going to get one shot at this then he's gonna take it. He's gonna take what he can get, whatever Frank's ready to give and it'll be enough. It'll have to be.

He locks his fingers in Frank's hair, pulling him in, kissing him deeper and pressing their bodies together tight. When Frank groans and grinds down on him Gerard slides a hand down to grip his ass and grinds back up. It feels fucking _amazing_.

Frank comes up for air, letting out a throaty groan, eyes closed like he's found bliss. He wriggles on top of Gerard, muttering "Fuck, _fuck_ ," all flushed, sweaty and lustful, and he couldn't turn Gerard on more if he tried. His hands are sliding up under Gerard's shirt, warm fingers rubbing over his chest, down around his waist, trailing across the soft flesh of his belly. Gerard's stomach muscles tighten self-consciously. He knows his body is no work of art, he's carrying a few extra pounds, and it's all in the wrong places. But it's not stopping Frank touching everything he can reach, driving those thoughts about how Frank's so out of his league clean out of his head.

Frank’s reaching lower now, pressing his hand over Gerard's fly as he leans down to kiss him again. Gerard moans into his mouth at the touch, too much and so completely not enough with all that thick material in the way. He wants more, but he knows if he gets it, it'll be over way too soon. He's a hair trigger right now, and if Frank moves his hand half an inch in the right direction, he'll be sitting in a wet spot the rest of the night.

He takes evasive measures, grabbing Frank by the shoulders and flipping him over onto his back. He leans over him on one arm, the other straying down Frank's chest and chasing up under his shirt. Frank sucks in a strained breath and arches up to Gerard's fingers, hips shoving up off the table, begging for attention.

Gerard bites his lip and devours the sight, pushing Frank's shirt up until Frank makes an impatient noise and tears it over his head. Then, there's all that skin he couldn’t stop looking at last week, only now he’s allowed to _touch_. He strokes a hand down Frank’s chest, fingers skating over hot skin to trace the line of hair trailing from Frank’s navel right down to the waistband of his low-slung jeans. Frank makes a noise and twitches up at Gerard’s hands. The way he’s moving tugs a smile at Gerard’s mouth even as he leans down to lick and worry at the skin of Frank’s neck.

Frank tosses his head and wiggles against him, covering Gerard’s hand with his own and forcing it downwards until their joined hands are palming his dick. Frank hisses happily, grinding up against their hands and Gerard can't help the little snort of laughter he blows like a raspberry into Frank’s neck.

"Fuck, impatient much?" He teases, even as his fingers find their own hold, shaping the hard jut of Frank’s dick through his jeans.

"Will you just fucking do it already?" Frank’s grin twists into a grimace of pleasure at the squeeze of Gerard’s hand.

"Fuck you." Gerard grins, teasing.

"Yes. Exactly." Frank’s panting the words out looking like he’s in pain, as Gerard’s fingers continue their firm assault. "Any time now would be great, thanks."

Gerard smushes his grin into Frank’s neck and bites him gently in protest, worrying the flesh between his teeth. If he’s gonna wind up with a hickey _and_ a black eye he’s gonna leave his mark on Frank too, damn it. Frank doesn’t complain, he just arches into Gerard’s body and keeps humping Gerard’s hand. There’s fuck all Gerard can really do through the jeans, so he fumbles with Frank’s belt one-handed until Frank clues in and unbuckles it for him.

Gerard’s heart’s in his throat as he unbuttons Frank’s jeans. He leans up on his elbow, watching Frank really carefully as each button gives, waiting for the moment when Frank will freak out. It doesn’t come. Frank just stares up at Gerard, face all sweaty and flushed, biting his lip and sucking on his lip ring. At the first touch of Gerard’s fingers inching under the waistband of his boxers, Frank’s grabbing Gerard’s head down and kissing him messily, all wet tongue and teeth and lips. His hips buck up, plunging Gerard’s hand into his underwear, warm and damp. He echoes Frank’s moan when he finds his grip. Frank’s dick is hot, hard and already leaking precome, lending some slip to Gerard’s hand.

Gerard finds a rhythm, starting with slow strokes and incrementally increasing the speed as Frank gets noisier and twitchier. He goes from kissing the fuck out of Gerard, to panting into his neck and back to the kissing again in phases. Gerard keeps a firm grip, loving the hardness and pulse in his hand, evidence of just how much Frank is getting off on this. Fuck, he could do this forever.

Except Frank’s getting close, he can feel it. The way he goes still for four or five strokes, completely tensed up, then starts twitching and bucking for three or four more like he’s losing control of his body. He’s unselfconscious as ever, energy thrumming through him and out of him like when he’s playing, or moshing or laughing and Gerard’s got to swallow down this hot intense feeling at the sight, push it way down, because it’s too overwhelming. Too much for now.

He concentrates on getting Frank off, leaning close until their foreheads are pressing and Frank’s hot breath is pushing over his mouth. Frank’s frozen tense, trembling and hissing under Gerard’s ministrations and this time when he un-sticks his body reacts more violently than ever. He locks his hands in Gerard’s hair, mashing their lips together as his whole body bucks. It takes real effort for Gerard not to lose his grip or his rhythm the way Frank’s thrashing around. When he comes, he seizes up so hard their teeth smash, groaning against Gerard’s lips and shaking as he covers Gerard’s fingers with sticky heat.

Frank gets stuck awhile like that, hands locked in Gerard’s hair, breath hissing through his teeth as he waits out the last aftershocks. Gerard strokes him down from the peak, drinking in the sight of him as the last vibrations die off. He’s so fucking beautiful like this, eyes squeezed shut and a sloppy grin on his face.

"Fuck." Frank breathes, finally finding his way back from wherever he went. "I told you, right? I told you tonight was going to _fucking rock_!" He throws his arms out to his sides shouting "You hear that, motherfuckers. Fucking rock!" grinning like a maniac, laughter bubbling out of him until Gerard’s caught it too. He flops down onto the table top, giggling into Frank’s neck until he’s not sure if he can stop.

In all his fantasies about it, he never expected fooling around with Frank would be this much fun. He also never expected to actually get to do it for real, which is a million times better than even his best jerk-off fodder. He's wiping jizz off his hand on the edge of the table when Frank sighs happily.

"Fuck man, you should try this." He's wiggling around on the table top, bare ass rubbing on the lacquered wood.

"Try what?"

"Get your cock out for some air. Fuck, it feels _awesome_." He rolls his head to the side, smirking at Gerard with his cheek pressed against the wooden table top. "How the hell are you still wearing so many clothes?"

Before Gerard can even find an answer, Frank crawls on top of him, pulling roughly at his sweat-damp t-shirt until Gerard just gives in and lets him tear it off. He doesn't even have time to worry about his pale skin and unsightly pudge because Frank's already grabbing at his belt.

"Frank, you don't have to-"

"Shut up." Frank cuts off the protest, fingers way too nimble on Gerard's belt for someone who just got off. Gerard's pants are open in no time and Frank's yanking them downwards, their belt buckles clashing together and jingling as Gerard’s noticing yes, the night air on his hot dick _does_ feel pretty great. He's about to relate that newsflash to Frank but he doesn't quite manage it before Frank's hand fists around his cock, chasing any semblance of thought right out of his head.

All that comes out of Gerard's mouth is a rush of air with a high pitched moan behind it because jesus-fuck that feels good. Frank's grip is firm and he doesn't bother teasing, stroking straight into a satisfying rhythm, and Gerard's got more noises for that, rumbly groans and keening whines all pouring out of his throat as Frank works him over.

"I feel like I'm doing it back to front." Frank observes, staring down at Gerard with a pinched look of concentration. Gerard can only reach up a hand and cling to his shoulder encouragingly, throat choked up with breathy moans.

The way Frank’s jerking him off does kind of feel backwards because his thumb is on the opposite side to where Gerard’s would be if he was doing this himself. It’s okay though, because it’s hitting that sensitive spot on the underside of his cockhead with every stroke in a way that’s making Gerard’s knees shake. He feels hot all over despite his mostly naked state, his chest and face burning as he twitches up under Frank’s attention.

"You like it, right? Tell me you like it." Frank’s asking breathily and Gerard can’t fathom how he even needs to ask the question with all the stupid embarrassing noises he’s making.

"Fuck, Frank..." He pants, barely able to get the words out. "Just… don’t stop."

The little crease of concern between Frank’s eyebrows vanishes. "I knew it." He grins with satisfaction, leaning lower over Gerard, still pumping his dick and all Gerard can do is squeeze his eyes shut, let his head roll back and just _feel._

Frank’s looking smug, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to him, and Gerard has to grab him by the back of the head kiss that fucking smirk right off his stupid face. Except having Frank’s tongue in his mouth at the same time as his hand on his dick is sending him careening towards orgasm at a flat-out run now. The way Frank kisses him isn’t pretty or gentle, it’s lips mashing, teeth scraping, tongue thrusting in hard and fast. It’s pushing every button Gerard has, sending his hips stuttering upwards frantically as Frank rubs him off, clinging on tightly as Frank increases his speed.

He breaks the kiss, gasping for air, cock pulsing in Frank’s busy hand. Frank’s staring down at him, wet mouth hanging wide with amazement like this is the coolest thing he’s ever seen. He mutters "Fuck yeah," with something like wonder and that’s it, that’s fucking _it_ , Gerard lets out a shrieking, hiccuping moan as he goes over the edge, hips leaping up off the table, body thrashing violently as his cock pulses, shooting his release between them. All Gerard’s sees as he loses it is flashes of Frank’s face grinning down at him between the flutters of his eyelids.

Frank’s still looking when Gerard recovers enough to pry his eyes open. He’s covered in sweat, heart beating in his ears and he can’t seem to pull enough air into his lungs but he feels incredible.

"All right?" Frank asks, eyebrow arching up.

"Understatement of the fucking year." Gerard pants, still not really back on the planet yet. "You?" He asks with a hint of concern.

"Oh, hell yeah." Frank assures him, flopping lower til he’s right in Gerard’s face, infuriatingly smug. "I think I’m pretty good at this, actually."

Gerard snorts at that and Frank just pulls a face, arguing "You liked it."

Gerard has no comeback for that, because he really fucking did. He kisses Frank instead, slow and lazy until they’re both boneless with it. Frank breaks the kiss with a low chuckle and rolls onto his back beside him.

They lie there a long time. Gerard feels his heartbeat slow, sweat cooling on his skin. He’s staring up at the stars with his pants down around his thighs and come on his stomach, and he’s pretty sure he’s never felt this good, ever. Frank’s hand reaches blindly for his, their fingers threading together and Gerard has to correct that thought because now, _now_ it’s pretty much perfect.

They’re probably lucky they didn’t get arrested, and Gerard won’t ever be able to look at a picnic table in quite the same way again, but fuck it was so worth it.

A kiss goodnight in Frank’s car outside the Way house nearly turns into round two, Frank climbing over the gearshift into Gerard’s lap and kissing him breathless up against the passenger door. If it weren’t ass-o-clock in the morning and they weren’t in clear view of the house, things might have gone a lot further. As it is, Gerard’s breathless and half-hard when he descends the stairs, crawling into bed happily exhausted.

He’s dancing on the edge of unconsciousness, running highlights back through his mind, the feel of Frank’s lips, the taste of him, when his phone trills, too loud in the quiet darkness. His heart leaps at the sound, scrambling on the floor to find it. The sickly green screen glows too blindingly, message scrolling frustratingly slow.

 _best fucking night ever. cant stop smiling_

Gerard grins in the darkness, tapping the back button to make the message scroll again. And again. He reads it five more times until his cheeks ache from smiling before dumping the phone back on the floor and flopping back onto his pillow with a sigh.

"Me too, Frank." He breathes into the darkness, closing his eyes and letting sleep claim him.

***

He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he shows up to work his Sunday lunch shift. Work-wise, he knows it’ll be slow, lunch shifts always are. He’s scheduled on with Matt and Frank today, which would usually mean lots of smoke breaks, loud music and inventing new and inedible pizza recipes. But ‘usual’ doesn’t apply to what happened with Frank last night.

He’s really only got the text message Frank sent last night to go on, which he keeps re-reading like some kind of lame creeper. It still makes him smile like a tool, but it doesn’t clue him in on how to act, what the deal is with him and Frank now. He’s not even sure if there _is_ a deal with him and Frank. Frank certainly seemed to be enjoying the whole making out thing last night, but Gerard’s not willing to upgrade them from ‘friends’ to ‘boyfriends’ based on that alone.

The thought of the word ‘boyfriends’ immediately makes him think of Mikey. He hasn’t seen hide nor hair of him since before last night’s gig. There’s no way he’s going looking for him though, hell no, especially since he’s pretty certain Ray spent the night. Some doors should remain closed.

The surge of apprehension he gets as he steps across the threshold of Pepi’s that day is so much bigger than the nerves he got on his very first shift. He takes a breath and reaches for calm. This is not a big deal. It’s just another shift. But when he looks up from his feet to find Frank grinning at him from behind the counter and his heart leaps, he knows he’s kidding himself.

He returns Frank’s smile without even thinking, sidling behind the counter and leaning on the bench. He’s trying so hard to be casual but his heart’s beating way too fast and all he can think about is how much he wants to kiss Frank again.

"Hey." He’s happy when his voice comes out sounding relatively normal.

"Hey you." Frank’s smiling back at him. How he can look that good in the ugly-ass uniform Gerard will never know.

Whatever might have come next is lost when the phone rings and Frank rolls his eyes and takes the call. Matt arrives while Frank’s still on the phone, groaning about a hangover and not getting paid enough to give up his Sunday sleep-in for this shit. The rest of the shift goes pretty much as normal: orders, deliveries, stealth jalapeno juice attacks - the usual.

At least it does until Matt takes a phone order and Frank yanks Gerard’s arm nearly out of the socket, dragging him down to the rear of the store and into the cold room. Before Gerard’s got breath to speak, Frank shoves him back against the bitingly cold metal door and starts kissing the fuck out of him. All Gerard can do is kiss him back and hold on. His cap falls off immediately, pressed off by Frank’s visor getting in the way. Gerard lets it fall to the floor, uncaring, grabbing onto Frank’s neck and kissing him fiercely, pushing his tongue inside Frank’s mouth to find his.

At first he’s too busy kissing Frank to be thinking about the fact that he is _kissing Frank_. Again. This is becoming a regular occurrence, not just a one-off freak thing, and somewhere under the rush of blood, his mind is chanting _boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend_ at him and he’s starting to think maybe there’s something in that. Maybe that’s what this is.

If it _is_ boyfriends – fuck, he can do this _whenever_ he wants to.

His mouth is tugging up at the corner at that idea, then Frank’s biting on his lower lip and Gerard loses the thought, all of his thoughts, in fact. He presses Frank back against the shelves and devours him, loving the tight grip of Frank’s fingers in his hair, hot press of his body. He barely even processes the sound of the cold room door swinging open.

"Oh man, not you guys too! Fuck, am I the only fucking straight guy who works here?" Matt’s scandalized shriek throws a bucket of cold water on Gerard. He can feel his face flushing and he starts to pull away but Frank won’t let him. Frank’s hand on the back of his head keeps him there and he does not stop kissing him even though Gerard’s stopped kissing back. Persistence wins out, and Gerard starts kissing back again, peeking through one eye to see Frank’s flipping Matt off.

"Fine! Fuck you both. Fucking slackers." Matt mutters, slamming the cold room door closed behind him.

Frank cracks up pretty much immediately and Gerard is right behind him. They stay in the cold room, clinging to each other and shaking with laughter long enough to really piss Matt off.

***

Frank tails Gerard home from work after their shift, even though he knows the way by now. They enter the house, still in their uniforms with fingers linked, stumbling into the living room where Mikey’s all tangled up in Ray on the couch

Mikey’s all-seeing eyes dart from their joined hands, to Gerard’s black eye, to his newly acquired hickey, his expression unreadable. He turns to Ray who’s looking more relaxed than Gerard has ever seen him, muttering "I need coffee. You want?" Ray shakes his head and Mikey disentangles himself and walks, to all outward appearances calmly, to the kitchen. That is, if you discount the set of his shoulders and the way he grabs Gerard by the wrist and yanks, dragging his brother behind him. Frank raises an eyebrow but, smartly, doesn’t follow, choosing to go into the living room to join Ray.

"What are you doing?" Mikey hisses at Gerard as soon as they’re out of eyeline of Ray and Frank. "I said be careful!"

"I’m being careful." Gerard argues, trying to keep his voice low. This is totally not the time for Mikey to be getting all brotherly about this.

"This," Mikey pokes sharply at Gerard’s hickey, making him wince slightly, "is not being careful."

"That’s none of your business." Gerard hisses back at him.

"He punched you in the face!" Mikey’s whisper is a bit more a shriek.

"Um, guys, you know we can hear everything you’re saying?" Frank’s voice leaks in from the living room, sounding very unsure.

Mikey huffs out an angry breath, eyes boring into the ceiling like he’s searching for strength. "You punched him in the face!" He calls back, not backing down. Gerard just looks at him helplessly, hoping like hell this isn’t gonna end badly.

"And I said I was sorry." Frank’s not shouting anymore, he’s in the kitchen doorway looking contrite. "Okay? I was drunk and I freaked out and I honestly… I just didn’t see it coming okay?" It takes a moment for Gerard to realize that Frank’s not talking to Mikey anymore. His eyes are fixed right on Gerard’s and they’re huge and sincere.

"Well you wouldn’t have seen it coming, what with the whole _being unconscious_ thing." Gerard spares a glare at Mikey. It’s so completely unfair that he has to talk about this again. Mikey barely raises an eyebrow in response because he has no soul.

Frank takes careful steps closer to Gerard taking one of his hands in his, twining their fingers. Frank’s other hand floats up to brush feather-light over his cheekbone, staring at Gerard’s injury regretfully. "I just… I hate that I did this, you know?" His fingers are so gentle on Gerard’s face it’s giving him goosebumps. "That’s why I left, why I wouldn’t answer the door. Fuck, I thought you hated me." His lip curls with distaste.

"I thought you hated _me_." Gerard admits, voice throaty. The skin around his eye is fizzing from Frank’s touch, reminding him of exactly what he did to deserve it. "I’m a creeper." He sighs, shaking his head.

"And I’m an asshole." Frank says uncomfortably, focusing way too hard on Gerard’s injured eye, "Shit Gee, I gave you a black eye and then _you_ apologize? Fuck, man. You’re amazing." Gerard tosses his hair out of his eyes, fighting a smile as the word ‘amazing’ echoes through his head.

Frank’s eyes narrow, fingertips twitching between Gerard’s. "You’re not gonna like, do that every time I fall asleep are you?" All the blood in Gerard’s body rushes straight to his face as Frank continues, "Because I don’t wanna be missing out on the good shit because I’m unconscious. That’s not fair."

Gerard is well on his way to mortified and Frank’s smirk is not helping. "Can we just never, ever talk about this ever again. Ever?"

"Oh God. You are both so weird." Mikey snorts dismissively, padding across the kitchen to where Ray’s hovering in the doorway.

"Shut up, Mikey." Gerard throws over his shoulder before fixing his eyes back on Frank. "Can we just go back to the part where I’m amazing?"

That gets a smile out of Frank finally, one that squinches his eyes at the sides and pulls at his lip ring. "That’s more than one part." Frank admits, fingers squeezing Gerard’s and Gerard’s pretty sure that alone shouldn’t make him feel like his heart’s gonna burst, but it does.

"Just try not to kill each other, okay?" Mikey sounds resigned, muttering to Ray, "Come on, let’s get out of here before Frank starts asking you sex questions again."

"Wait, you asked Ray _sex_ questions?" Gerard splutters.

Frank just grins, turning slightly pink. "Well I needed to know what I was getting into, right?"

Gerard’s got nothing to say to that, just a stupid big smile that’s eating his face. He grabs a handful of Frank’s shirt and pulls him in for a kiss. Because Gerard is _amazing_ , right? Frank’s mouth is soft under his, moving gently like Gerard’s something fragile and Gerard eases into it, slow and sweet and lazy.

Mikey makes a disgusted noise and drags Ray out of the room.

Gerard doesn’t even register the movement, he’s too busy kissing his motherfucking boyfriend.

***

Gerard hates doing closes. It’s not even the grossness of cleaning up, sweeping all the disgusting mashed up toppings off the floor and getting cheese under his fingernails wiping down the benches. It’s more that it keeps him at work til after midnight and usually at least a couple of hours later than when Frank’s finishes. Not that his entire existence revolves around seeing Frank, but work is certainly less interesting when he’s not there.

Tonight he hurries through the cleanup, probably doing a shabby job of mopping up but he could care less. The floor’s just gonna get covered in crap again tomorrow with the very first order. Brian will be less than pleased, but maybe that’ll teach him for putting Gerard on a close on a Friday night.

By the time Gerard gets over to Ray’s, the guys are all settled in. There are three or four cars parked out front, and Metallica leaking through the front windows. He bumps into Matt on his way in the front door, getting a nod and a smile from him as he passes, dragging a giggling girl with pink hair and a nose ring behind him. Well that explains the good mood Matt’s been in lately.

"’Sup, assholes?" he announces to the living room. Mikey’s sprawled across Ray on the couch, all knees and arms, flicking through channels on the TV. Before he even has a chance to ask where Frank is, he’s bounding into the room, grabbing a handful of Gerard’s shirt and pulling him down for a kiss. Mikey groans immediately and covers his eyes. Gerard could care less, he’s well-versed at filtering his brother’s whining. He leans in, finding Frank’s tongue, one hand sliding around his waist to haul him closer.

Vaguely he hears Mikey groan at Ray. "Just tell me when they stop so I know it’s safe to look."

Gerard smiles into Frank’s mouth and Frank just kisses him harder.

"Ray…?" Mikey’s asking apprehensively.

"I’ll tell you." Ray mutters, amusement in his voice. Mikey makes a noise like an angry horse and Gerard’s has to tighten his chest to hold back a laugh.

"Ray…?" Mikey asks again after a not-very-long pause.

"I said I’d tell you." Ray’s starting to sound a little less patient now.

Frank starts licking at Gerard’s mouth like this is a porno or something and Gerard plays up right back, opening his mouth wider and using lots of tongue. It’s so hard not to laugh. Also, somehow despite the over-the-top-grossness this is still kind of turning him on. Right up until the moment something hard and hollow hits the back of his head with a metallic thud.

"Ow." He pulls back from Frank, rubbing the sore spot. There’s an empty coke can rolling at his feet. "My fucking head."

"My fucking _eyes_!" Mikey argues right back. Gerard just picks up the empty can and throws it at Mikey. He’s a terrible shot and completely misses him, so he just shrugs and flops onto the couch. Frank crawls up next to him, lounging out and using Gerard’s leg as a pillow. Gerard’s so used to Frank climbing on him by now that it doesn’t even register anymore.

It’s been three weeks since the Pipeline gig and everything awesome that happened right after. Gerard’s eye is completely healed, and he’s only just getting used to seeing himself looking normal in mirrors again. Sometimes he catches Frank looking at his now healed eye with a vaguely guilty expression, but it’s happening less and less.

"Mikey, show him your bass." Frank suggests, grinning like he knows it’ll put Mikey in a better mood. Mikey’s been stupidly excited about getting his bass ever since he decided that’s what he wanted to spend his Mystery Shopper money on.

"It came?" Gerard asks excitedly, because really, Mikey’s enthusiasm for this infected him weeks ago.

"Mhm." Mikey mutters, reaching over the back of the couch to pull out a battered guitar case. "Ray picked it up today. Second hand but in awesome condition. Guy at the store said it was a real find." Mikey gets the case open and hands Gerard the guitar reverently. Gerard holds it carefully, fingers sliding over the slick shiny finish. It’s absolutely gorgeous.

He’s handing it gently back to Mikey when Frank speaks up again. "You gonna play us something Mikeyway?"

Mikey’s gaze falls straight to the floor. He shakes his head shyly. "I don’t really know anything."

"Liar. Ray’s been teaching you for weeks." Gerard argues but Mikey just stares him down expertly.

"Come on." Ray coaxes gently, "You can do _Wild Thing_. That one’s pretty straight up. I’ll do lead with you." Ray’s reaching for his acoustic guitar already, and Mikey’s face is a confusion of anticipation and pleasure. Gerard’s pretty sure playing alongside Ray was half the reason Mikey wanted to learn bass in the first place.

They break into _Wild Thing_ and though Mikey is a bit halting at first, he finds his groove pretty quickly. Frank starts to shout out the lyrics and soon the whole room joins in, noisy and energetic. Frank takes a great deal of joy in delivering the spoken word parts directly at Gerard, completely over the top. He grabs Gerard around the shoulders and declares, "You move me," making Gerard dissolve into a laughing fit. Luckily, they’re at a guitar break, so all he has to do is bounce his head along with the chords until they reach the next part.

It’s not highly musical or incredibly difficult music they’re playing, but it’s fun and it’s catchy and they’re all grinning, slapping knees and bobbing heads in time with it. Gerard slides back on the couch, tucking himself into Frank’s side even though he’s moving around so much it’s not terribly comfortable. He flicks his eyes around the room from Ray playing faultlessly, to Mikey biting his lip in concentration, to Frank tapping out the rhythm on his leg. In that moment, the germ of an idea is born.

It’s too soon to do anything with it, but Gerard clasps his mind around the barely formed notion and tucks it away safely. He’ll pull it out later, study it from all angles and decide what to do with it.

For now, he links his fingers with Frank’s and keeps on singing.

 

end


End file.
